


Watch Me Rot

by systemerror_404



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: A lot of death too, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Blood and Gore, Dubious Consent, Eventual Smut, M/M, Manipulation, Mental and physical torture, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Rick gets traumatized, Stockholm Syndrome, The Saviors attack on Alexandria goes a bit differently, Unhealthy Relationships, a lot of set up, set during s08e08
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-23
Updated: 2019-07-27
Packaged: 2020-05-16 23:00:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 6
Words: 25,786
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19327870
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/systemerror_404/pseuds/systemerror_404
Summary: Canon compliant until season 8 episode 8.Rick finds himself on his knees in hysteria before the leader of the Saviors, reduced to nothing. His community has been torn to shreds. Alexandria is up in flames as the smell of ash and death fills the air, slowly decaying bodies laying at their former leader's feet. It’s all over. Just as Rick thinks the agony has come to an end, that it’s his turn to die, Negan has a twisted change of heart. Rick is taken back to the Sanctuary as a prisoner to live out the rest of his days, but unbeknownst to the former sheriff, his captor has big, big plans for his new experiment.EDIT 9/7/19: I hate hate hate to say this but I'm going to have to put this story on hiatus for a while. With school and life getting in the way, I simply don't have the time, energy, or motivation to continue writing with the same spirit as before. I may come back to this fic in the future. But for now, this is all I got. Thank you so much for those of you that have read this little thing I've put together, the support I've received means so much. I'm sorry for ending things so abruptly, but what can ya do?That's all folks.





	1. Running on Empty

**Author's Note:**

> This chapter acts as more of a prologue, set in Carl's perspective shortly before the events of the main story. 
> 
> As Negan and the Saviors show up at Alexandria's front gates, the community is proposed with a deal: to surrender or have the town bombed. However, Carl has another plan set in place. He can buy everyone time by dealing with Negan himself while the majority of the Alexandrian's gather to hide in the sewers. The rest are tasked with staging a fake escape by making it look as if they all fled out back. After everything is set in motion, Carl flees to find the sewer entrance and hide. But things don't go according to plan.

_Kill me. If you have to kill someone, if there has to be a punishment, then kill me. I’m serious._

_You wanna die?_

_No, I don’t. But I will. It’s gonna happen. And if me dying could stop this-- if it can make things different for us, for you, for all those other kids-- it’d be worth it. I mean, was this the plan? Was it supposed to be this way? Is this who you wanted to be?_

 

By the look on the man’s face, Carl knew his words had gotten through to Negan, made him think, but now wasn’t the time to bother with hopeful thoughts and illusions of a peaceful outcome. Now, he needed to protect himself and find shelter. Bombs rained down onto a nearby house, shocking the boy out of his daze. Carl jolted up onto his feet and quickly slung the duffle bag over his shoulder from off the ground, then placing his sheriffs hat back on top of his head. There was a harsh stinging pain in his leg, but as adrenaline pumped through his body, he found it easy to ignore.

Carl snatched a smoke grenade from within the bag, pulling the pin and tossing it somewhere nearby. He limped away from Alexandria’s main gate-- the Savior’s positioned just outside of it-- as smoke billowed into the air. He repeated the action of throwing out the harmless grenades a few times over, quickening his pace all that he could. The only thing more important than finding cover was covering his tracks.

The sound of each explosion was deafening, and paired along with the smoke, the boy became disoriented as he stumbled about the scorched town. Fallen buildings had ignited into massive balls of fire, the heat radiating off them unbearable. Nearing the church, Carl found himself quickly scurrying in a different direction and throwing down another grenade as the building erupted into fire. As he took a moment to look around the town, dread began to set in. Seeing the place where his family had lived for so long be reduced to ash before his very eyes was a sickening sight, momentarily causing the boy to lose his bearings. The reality that this would be some of his last memories slapped him across the face with the weight of a truck. It was terrifying, it was a cruel play by fate and time. And before he knew it, he was blasted back onto the ground as a car exploded directly in front of him, falling unconscious.

When he came to he was in an even weaker state than before. Struggling to his knees, Carl tried to look around before falling into a coughing fit from the absurd amount of smoke that surrounded him. The boy squinted his burning eye tightly as he covered his mouth and stood up. He could just barely make out the glowing flames of the now melted car in front of him, the heat of it warming his soot-stained face. Upon backing away, he noticed he could no longer feel the weight of the duffle bag sagging from his shoulder, then panicking at the realization. It now made sense as to where all the smoke came from. “Shit… shit!”

Carl limped away from the sight, almost tripping over his injured leg in the process. Everything in his sight was either rubble or on fire. Smoke thinly coated the entire place in a gloomy grey shade and his mouth hung open as his lungs struggled to get single breath of fresh air. It felt impossible. As he turned his head away from the destruction, a tiny ray of hope shone through the darkness when he spotted a group of people fleeing. His people. They were going to make it to safety, and his plan was working. Carl turned back around as a bit of a smile crossed his cheeks, he picked up his hat and adjusted it back over his head before limping off.

Finding an untouched house nearby, the boy felt himself being pulled there like a moth to a flame. The pain in his leg was slowly beginning to unbearably throb, and without any smoke bombs to use as a distraction if he were to be spotted, a small part of him almost felt like lying down there to potentially be blown up would provide a better outcome than anything else. But, over all of that, he just needed a second to breathe. He felt the entire world slow down and the sounds around him muffle as he leaned back against the hard wood of the buildings porch.

Carl couldn’t shake his feeling of impending doom. It was something that had been building in his gut ever since he jumped down from the gate. He felt that this might not just be his final stand, but everyone else’s too. One slip up could result in terrible, terrible consequences, and not just for him. He didn’t think his ailments would be catching up to him so fast, not now. He knew very well he was a dead man walking, but the rest, really? With all their resilience and potential? Besides, a majority of the Alexandrian’s had already made it down into the sewers to hide, hadn’t they? Nothing worse was going to happen to them, no. As long as he persevered.

Then, ironically so, the glass of a window shattered as Carl heard a grenade fall inside the house. His body reacted on instinct with another rush of adrenaline as he raced down the porch steps, sprinting a good few yards away before an array of explosions sounded behind him. He continued to run until his legs finally gave out underneath him. He gasped out in utter discomfort as his body collided into the grass. For a good few moments he couldn’t move. The infection was starting to course it’s way through his veins, the fever setting in with greater intensity as each minute passed. And his leg, twisted, sprained, whatever it was, ached worse than ever. But he couldn’t give up now. He was so close to safety, no matter how temporary it was. Working his way back onto his feet, Carl grabbed hold of a nearby tree to sturdy himself and made a start for the storm drain that led into the sewers. He could hear the echoes of distant voices surround him.

He cursed under his breath as the pain ran all throughout his body with each step. He knew the Savior’s were closing in on him, and every second he was out in the open meant the odds of him getting caught were doubled. It was particularly worrying when he noticed the deafening sounds of explosions had ceased. And that’s when everything started to fall apart.

“ON THE GROUND, KID!”

The yell came from a man Carl could just barely see through the building smoke. Another appeared next to him as they jogged closer with guns raised. The boy’s mind raced before he could react to the Savior’s command. He tried to think of a way to quickly escape the situation, but there was nothing he could do. No more grenades, he could barely stand, let alone run. The storm drain was just a few feet away to his right. In his panic Carl recoiled backwards, but as he did his back was quickly met with something firm, paired along with the sound of an eerily familiar voice.

“Woah there! Where the hell do you think _you’re_ going?”

Carl turned around on a dime at the sound behind him, finding himself staring up at Negan’s enthusiastic expression. The grin he wore screamed pure joy, “ but it looks like you’ve just run out of juice to scramble off anywhere else, huh?”

His bat rested comfortably in one hand whilst the other was placed firmly on his hip. Carl glared back up at the man with an unwavering look despite all the fear he felt. Finally, that feeling of dread made sense, and there was nothing the boy could say. He was speechless. The way his lips parted as if to speak said what he was feeling better than actually letting his words come out, and Negan noticed.

“Jesus, kid, you put on quite the goddamn show and you can’t even muster up the balls to own that? Sure, things _clearly_ aren’t going exactly your way here, but you sure as shit proved yourself quite the conniving little bastard just a bit ago. Can’t even find anyone out here in this mess…” The way Negan stared down at Carl was something similar to disappointment, and the fact that he assumed Carl had anything to prove to him made him sick. The taller man walked closer to narrow the space between him and the two gunmen to the boy’s back. He stumbled a bit, but refused to break eye contact. He wasn’t going to cower to this asshole.

“But! I think you might be able to tell me where all of them are,” Negan bent down to get eye level with Carl, his hands clasped behind his own back as he asked. “So, where is everybody, Carl? They hiding?”

What made Carl even more nauseous was that Negan said that as if he already knew. His plan was supposed to have made it seem as if everyone had fled the town, not that they were still here. As to how he’d come to that conclusion made Carl’s head spin. Three of them, his father, Enid, and Aaron, were already gone prior to the attack. Only five had actually left as a distraction. There was no way Negan would have already figured that out. Those five wouldn’t have been caught. So how the hell did he know? Carl’s jaw clenched as he pushed back the urge to punch the other man square in the throat. It was becoming a challenge to think of what else there was to do to get out of his predicament. His fever was consuming his entire body, clouding his thoughts as droplets of sweat ran down his face. His stamina was at an extreme low that even tilting his neck to look at the man before him was a challenge. And so, he shook his head as he lowered it to stare at the ground, “Where the hell do you think they went? Since you sound so goddamn sure of--”

“Ah, ah, ah! Carl, what would your daddy think if he heard you, swearing up a _storm_ ,” Negan furrowed his brows in a disapproving fashion, his back straightening as if the words offended him so, “and for your information, I _am_ pretty damn sure about where they are. You’ve been walkin’ around like a damn sloth, weren’t real hard to spot, kid. And then I see you sprint your ass _directly_ over to this area after you get back onto your feet. Plus… I know you people ain’t that stupid to up and leave just like that, then leave you behind? Right…”

The words out of Negan’s mouth told Carl exactly what he was afraid of: there was no way out of this. His stomach dropped as he squeezed his eye shut, taking another moment to process the crushing reality of his situation. He had been followed for some undisclosed amount of time without him noticing for a second. Now, the Savior’s had Carl right where they wanted him. He let out a few jagged breaths as a burning sensation rose behind his eye upon opening it. They were going to find everyone down there in that sewer. His plan had failed, and worst of all, Carl didn’t have the strength to fight the men away. He couldn’t even work himself up to try.

The boy thought back upon what he had said to Michonne just before this entire ordeal started. _This is my show._ As if he’d reverted back to a child, Carl’s eye unintentionally started to water. His shoulders tensed and he struggled to hold back his tears as he finished his thought. _And I’ve failed them_. After a few brief moments, Carl forced himself to maintain composure after hearing a small mocking laugh out of Negan’s mouth. His glossy eye bore into Negan’s own with the utmost ferocity. “No. I’m not telling you where they are. I’m not letting you hurt them.” His voice was louder, more powerful, even if the show of strength was all for not.

Negan didn’t seem pleased by the retaliation as his lips contorted into a deep frown. He grabbed at the collar of Carl’s shirt and began to shout.  “Yes! You are! And I suggest you stop pussy-footing around before things start gettin’ real fuckin’ dirty--!” For a split second, Carl saw the man’s eyes glance over at the drain cover.

“NO!” the word forced itself out of the boy’s lips before he could even process it, his hands reaching out in front of himself as a new look of desperation shone in his eye. Carl’s frustrated stare darted all around the man’s face, struggling to read his unchanging expression. But then, Negan’s scowl started to widen into a smile upon letting go of Carl. It was as if he struck gold. He swung his bat, Lucille, around in his gloved hand as he fully glanced to the spot on the ground nearby.

“Shit, really? They’re _actually_ down there?” The man shifted his weight on his foot, cocking his head back. By the tone of Negan’s voice, it seemed as if he didn’t actually have any idea if the rest of the Alexandrian’s were still in the area or not. He sounded genuinely surprised. It boiled Carl’s blood. Was this man truly going off of a hunch? A _hunch_?

The boy’s heart was racing furiously as he leaned back to take a moment and survey his surrounds. The fires around him were seeming to grow with the intensity of his situation. To make things worse, more Savior’s had gathered to the area, likely drawn by all the yelling. It felt suffocating.

Carl could only watch as Negan neared the storm drain, peering down into the hole in the ground as Lucille knocked against the metal bars covering it. “No, no-- please just take me! I still stand by what I said. Leave them out of this, they haven’t done anything wrong! This, it was my idea--” the boy stuttered out his words in a rush before he was pushed back by one of the gunmen just after attempting to get closer toward Negan. He was ignored completely.

“HEY! Dumbasses, you listening? _Disappointing_ news for ya, Carl’s gone and blown all of your guys cover, so I _know_ you’re down there,” the evil bastard had turned his head to look at Carl with a pleased expression, Lucille held over his shoulder as he spoke to the likely shell-shocked people down below. He continued on, “now, let’s make this as simple and quick as can be. I want all of assholes up here, come out one at a time. Slowly. Any sudden movements and the kid loses a finger. Anyone tries to do somethin’ as stupid as fight back or run away, that’s a limb.”

“ _Negan_ ,” Carl pleaded again, the concoction of anger and mild terror clear in his voice. He got the man to look back over and walk towards him, however, Negan turned to his lackeys instead. He gestured for them to go over to sewer as he threw his hand back and pointed with thumb behind him.

“Norris, D.J, lift the grate for those dipshits. One of you get down there to escort them out, the other line them up by that sign over there. Gotta do a headcount.” Negan commanded of the two gunmen before slapping a firm hand on Carl’s shoulder. He was standing by his side as he led the boy in front of the hole in the ground. Negan kept a strong grip on him to keep him in place although the pressure caused Carl to momentarily lose his footing. He inhaled a shaky breath as a voice came from down within the sewer after one of Negan’s soldiers had made it to the bottom.

“Ok… ok, we’re coming out.”

Carl struggled to maintain a strong, unbroken look despite the situation. But now, he couldn’t even manage to glance up towards Negan anymore. He wanted to try to dig back into the man’s psyche, to pull away his psychotic exterior and get through to the genuine person underneath he’d seen flashes off in the past. He wanted to say something that’d get to Negan, he wanted his words to sound powerful; instead, what came out was nothing more than a quiet, frightened murmur.  “Why are you doing this?”

“To teach you a lesson.” His voice was stern, the words coming an instant after Carl’s question. The boy only scowled at the insinuation that he had anything to learn out of this.

Carl, Negan, and the rest of the other Savior’s stood in silence as the first person came out of the sewer. It was Tobin, a man Carl wasn’t very close to but had known well. He was a good fighter, and a good man. A person with a life, a person than had put his trust into Carl’s plan. A plan that, if to fail, would most certainly mean death, or worse. As he took the first few slow steps onto the grass, he was roughly shoved away by the man Carl assumed to be D.J. While Tobin was pushed past, he locked eyes with Carl, a look of sorrow filling his face. Then, the crushing guilt began to set in the boy’s gut.

Tobin opened his mouth to speak, “Carl, I--”

“No, no, none of that shit!” Negan immediately intervened as the Alexandrian was harshly directed off towards the left of Carl, to the sign. The boy couldn’t help but continue to stare helplessly as he was taken away. “Talking is off fucking limits, people. Look all you goddamn want but if I hear another peep outta any one of you shitheads, his trigger finger’s going bye-bye.”

And so, no more talking-- at least from the people coming out of the sewer-- was heard.

As each person came onto the surface, they were met with the horrible sight of Negan and a guilt-ridden Carl. The boy looked twice as sickly as he did before this all started, drawing more concern out of the onlookers faces. He presumed they thought the state of his appearance was caused by Negan, and there was no way Carl could clear the air, so to speak. He didn’t want the others to be so afraid, but he couldn’t admit what the source of his sickness was from, not now, not like this. So, he was left to stare wordlessly into the eyes of all the terrified people he’d failed to protect. Even if their expressions seemed to bare more pity, the shame he felt was unbearable. Rather quickly, Carl found his gaze drawn to the ground instead. He couldn’t look at their faces knowing how catastrophically he had changed their lives. He couldn’t confront it. The fear, the uncertainty in all of their expressions, he couldn’t look strong for them anymore. He knew it was all his fault.

“Lift your head back up,” Negan spoke with a surprising lack of amusement, pure venom in his tone. He sounded cold, frighteningly so. Carl begrudgingly followed the order as he replaced his self-loathing thoughts with an unbroken mask although several clear cracks covered the surface. Those cracks quickly broke off and the boy was leaking guilt and sadness. “I need this to sink in for you. I need you to understand _exactly_ what the fuck you got all of them into. I was gonna let you off easy if you just opened the fuckin’ gates, but now, well, once again you people have just forced my goddamn hand! Not only am gonna have torture the hell out of and then kill your dad, but I might just have to turn _lot_ more of you people’s brains into mush, paint the town fuckin’ red so you jackasses can get to following THE GODDAMN AGENDA!”

Carl flinched as Negan’s voice grew into a yell. He was paralyzed as terror overwhelmed all of his thoughts. He’d never felt more hopeless.

The boy watched as one of the older women who had lived in Alexandria since the beginning exited the sewer. He saw the fear in her eyes. She’d probably never seen Negan up close before, probably didn’t even know what the man looked like. She would have sheltered herself from it. But now…

“All these fine ladies and gents, gettin’ exposed to this shit… people who probably haven’t even _stepped_ outside these damn walls! All thanks to you, right? This your plan? To be honest with you, ya _almost_ got away with it too. If only, right? What a damn time that would be.” Negan let out a condescending scoff, resting some of his weight down on his bat. Carl noticed him survey the area, specifically the line of-- what were they now? Prisoners? He knew Negan had picked up they were missing a few very important people at the moment. More panic swelled through him at the thought of what would commence if they were to show up unannounced, particularly with his father. What if they tried to attack? He was going to see them die, wasn’t he? No, no, that couldn’t happen. He was going to find a way out of this, there was still time, there was still--

The two turned their heads as the sound of small, childlike whimpering came from the hole. A single hand gripped the ladder tightly, climbing up in slow strides. As more of the woman’s body came into view, so did Judith, clinging to her for dear life as she whined. The toddler was held securely in one arm as the other pulled them the rest of the way up. Negan still seemed to be fuming, preoccupied with the status of everyone else. He stared at the two coming out of the sewer before directing his eyes at Carl. The boy could feel the weight of his stare tear into his soul. As much as he wanted to look at Judith, he simply bowed his head further at the feeling, afraid.

“Give Carl his sister.” It was a command lowly growled rather than spoken. The woman did as she was asked, actively avoiding eye contact from Negan or Carl before she was pushed off into the line. The boy held Judith tightly to his chest, letting her head rest on the crook of his neck as he shushed her quietly. He was running his hand across her back when the one Savior, likely named Norris, came back up from within the sewer.

“That’s… all of them, sir.”

Negan’s eyes ignited with furry in an instant, spitting out commands without hesitation, “Half you, check the area to make sure those fuckers aren’t lurking around nearby, the rest of you, put a gun to each one of their heads over there, where the hell is my micropho--”

“W-wait!” Carl yelled out in desperation, coughing afterwards due to the sudden strain of his weakening voice.  He didn’t know what he was saying, he didn’t know why he was saying it. But if it could get Negan to trust him and for Carl to get through to him, if it could prevent any more chaos, then it was worth it. “They-- they’re coming back. Michonne, Daryl, Rosita, Tara, Dw-- Dwight. They went out there as… as a distraction, to take out whoever followed them. They were going to meet us in the sewer. That’s the truth, I _swear…_ ”

Negan walked in front of the boy as he continued to avoid looking at him directly. He didn’t make a noise as the barbed wire bat was quickly positioned just centimeters from him and Judith. The razor sharp edges of the wire threatened to tear into their faces. She let out a cry, shaking in his arms. Carl could feel Negan’s gaze continue to burn into him as he spoke. “You swear?” Carl gave the man an ashamed nod in return, trying to cover the toddlers vision all he could. “Great. Fantastic. Glad we got that cleared up. Just one more thing…”

Negan kept Lucille in position, using his spare hand to forcefully lift Carl’s head up by grabbing a fistful of his sweat-dampened hair. They locked eyes, both emitting seething anger. Carl’s eye, however, had become dull, a pinkish-red ring surrounding it while his face appeared a deathly pale shade. He tried to tug away from the tight grip on his hair as the child in his arms started to weep louder. It was crushing the boy’s heart, his soul, even further; he was truly afraid of what would come next. He didn’t know if he’d be questioned as to how and why Dwight was helping them, or if instead Negan didn’t believe him at all and was ready to bash his brain in right there. But alternatively, “Where the fuck is Rick?”

Carl released a short, wavering breath he didn’t realize he was holding. “I-I don’t… I don’t know… he hasn’t been back in a while. He-he might check our house first once he sees… everything.”

Negan let out a semi-satisfied huff upon finally letting go of Carl’s hair, the same blank expression plastered on his face. “Lucky for you, I can work with that.” Negan stared down at Carl thoughtfully, the sternness in his face seeming to break. However, the boy didn’t relax any, his hopeless stare remaining. “Geez, lighten up, kid. I wasn’t actually gonna hurt ya. Well, not over that at least. You and the little girl are gonna be fine as two puppies cuddled up next to a warm fire long as you keep being so goddamn helpful!” He took away the bat, swung himself around to face the rest of the group, and suddenly he was back to his usual self.

“All right, people, new plan! That Samurai-wielding chick and her gang will be comin’ back through those sewers any time now. I don’t want them to have a chance to try anything, so a group of you secure all the entrances and exits . When you see ‘em, tell ‘em we have the rest of their people and not to say a word, just hand their shit over. If they talk, one of theirs gets shot,” Negan took a glance over the remaining crowd as some of the soldiers scurried over to the storm drain, he was grinning like a madman once again, “also, tie all of these sorry fucks up while we wait for the man of the hour to get his ass here. I wanna put on a nice show for Rick before that pathetic hardass has to hit the bucket, like a blast from the fuckin’ past! Take everyone to the center of town once the Samurai’s group shows up, put ‘em on their knees. Two of you, come with me.”

“I’m gonna go to Rick’s, make a little spaghetti. If he shows up here first, send him my way. I wanna have a talk with him before the main event,” at that, Negan threw Lucille back over his shoulder and waved everyone off. The malice in his eyes sent chills through Carl’s spine as the man turned and walked away.

This was the beginning of the end.


	2. You're Gonna Die Tonight

Rick quietly nudged open the door of his house, gun drawn and held securely in both hands. He was in a panic, completely and fully so after seeing the horrific sight that was Alexandria. The flames were spreading faster by the minute, burning everything in their wake. Ash and smoke clogged the air itself, shielding the rays of moonlight struggling to illuminate the house. The main source of light came from the fires that rested close by, but they were nowhere near bright enough for the man to make out much of anything in front of him. 

The darkness, the emptiness, and the panic of it all suffocated him. It’d been a nonstop struggle with the Savior’s since they had first shown face, and now just over two weeks of oppression had snowballed into an all-out war. The thought of fighting a losing battle had never so clearly butted its ugly face at Rick’s since the night this all started. After seeing how quickly the mess at the Sanctuary had been recovered in contrast to the chaos he was in, it started to terrify the man. Luckily, his determination to make things right again quickly ignited the force he needed to continue into the house.

But despite all his strong-minded spirit, Rick became overwhelmed with worry as one thought in his head started to scream louder than any other the more he realized how bare his home truly felt. He needed to know if his family was safe. Michonne, his children, he needed to see them. He damned himself for leaving them to deal with this by themselves. Instead of protecting them, he felt as if he’d simply thrown them into the line of fire. As the sweat started to drip down Rick’s already burning face, anxiety rose in his stomach at the thought of him getting there too late. The man took several more rushed steps inside, turning his head into another room momentarily, scouting out if anyone was in the building now that he could see better. Rick squinted tightly as his eyes began to adjust to the dimly lit house, but there was nothing, not even a sound, and it all felt too terribly quiet.

He blurted out in a strained whisper, “Carl?”

Rick crept further towards the living room as he shifted the gun in his arms. “Judith? Michonne…?” at that, a small shifting noise sounded aways into the area in front of him. He shot his head up and followed it without a second thought. Right as the man crossed over into the living room, around the corner came a barbed wire bat that swung straight down on his arm. Rick dropped his gun on impact as he let out a sharp yell. Not even a moment later he was jabbed in the gut with violent intensity. The man shouted once again, tumbling to the floor as the raging pain radiated through him. Groaning out in sheer discomfort, Rick managed to roll onto his hands and knees whilst cupping his abdomen. Small puffs of air escaped out of his lungs as he tried to reorient himself. He barely turned his head to see the batter towering over him.

“This shit isn’t funny anymore.”

Shifting elbows, Rick attempted to grab his pistol from his side. However, his movements were much too slow and the batter slammed the weapon down directly on his wrist, pricking a few nerves. Rick choked out a cry as he fell back onto the floor. Sucking in painfully, he began to tremble as the stinging from the hit overpowered his senses. He took a quick glance at his arm to see that the razor edges of the wire had pierced into his flesh. The puncture wounds on his skin were now trickling out a deep red. As he let out a few raspy gasps, Rick could clearly hear the other man let out a chuckle at his misfortune. It fueled him with uncontainable rage while he struggled to get his thoughts together. 

He felt Negan pulling at his belt to unclasp his gun holster, this lifting his hips somewhat off the ground. “Don’t make me do this now, Rick,” the man discarded the object by throwing it off elsewhere, then taking a small step back as he spoke with pure mirth, “I got plans for you.”

Rick took the opportunity to slowly crawl back up onto his hands and knees, glancing at Negan who was standing before him. He was smiling.

“Cut you up into little bitty pieces, feed you to the dead, and make you  _ watch-- _ !” as Negan swung Lucille back down, Rick tumbled out of the way of the bat into the dining room with a painful grunt. Clutching at the wall behind him, he finally made it to his feet while the batter walked closer and laughed. “Then, when you’re some sort of screwed-up, creepy stump with a head…”

He heard the sound of Negan grunt out with force as Lucille slammed into the sturdy wall of the house. Rick flung himself down and into a table after barely dodging the blow to his head. As he was bent over the object, he turned to see the other man pull his bat away and then stand in place, “that’s when I’m gonna kill ya-- in front of everybody.”

Rick moved his gaze around the room to figure out where he could retreat to next while he caught his breath in short, deep inhales. Leaning on his injured arm, he met his attacker's eyes, voice coming out in a growl, “you ever shut the hell up?”

“Nope!” Negan raised his bat in the air before swinging down with another yell just a second after Rick flipped around and landed on the floor. He scrambled back to his feet, exhaustion threatening to take over as he gripped onto his injured arm. Sweat was pouring down his face as his hair stuck to his forehead, legs wobbling in place. It only seemed to amuse the larger man. “Hah, hah, haah… you know your kid volunteered to die?”

Rick stumbled backward, nearly tripping over a chair as the words met his ears. The batter walked nearer with a look of twisted excitement, his voice mocking shame. “What kind of boy you raise, Rick?” the two stared one another down, the larger of the pair quickly replacing his displeased frown with a toothy smirk. They were now standing in front of each other at the end of the table. “I’m gonna fix him, ‘cause  _ I like ‘em _ . A few years, he’s gonna be one of my top guys--”

Just in time, Rick managed to duck under the bat after noticing Negan’s voice raise as his arms reel back to swing at him. He shot his body back up to throw a heavy punch into Negan’s cheek. In near shock that he’d managed to land the hit, Rick when still giving the batter just enough time to punch back. But the pain that flooded through the smaller man encouraged him to use all his strength to send Negan back into the wall with a jab straight to the jaw. He watched the man steady himself back up and race over towards him. Rick felt his panic set in as his legs grew weak. He was grabbed and harshly thrown into a desk placed in the corner of the room, breaking it on impact, its contents stabbing into his back and falling over him. The injured man let out a cry as he tumbled to his side, then curled over onto all fours.

“When I am done with you,” Rick heard the other man talking behind him, walking closer as Rick lifted his head to see the objects that had landed around him. He needed something, anything, to knock the other man away with. “Nobody will EVER try to do what you did, not EVER AGAIN,” he bent down to get eye level with Rick, “not your friends, not your  _ son-- _ ” 

At that, Rick quickly grabbed a metal table decoration and swung it right across Negan’s temple. The hit sent his attacker to fall onto the floor with a thud, landing on his back. Rick stood and raced over to look down at the batter, taking the handle of Negan’s weapon and jabbing it into his chest. The man on the floor let out a shout as he squirmed on the ground.

“Don’t you fuckin' touch her--!” Negan gurgled out through clenched teeth, thereafter taking a swing at Rick’s gut to once again stun him. As the injured man began to keel over, Negan regained the upper hand by kicking him into the wall behind him. Rick then spotted his pistol underneath the table as Negan regained his footing and glanced in the same direction, but what sounded like a click came from within the darkness before either of them had time to act. The fight was over.

Rick stood paralyzed in a cowering position, knees half bent while his arms pressed back into the wall, defenseless.  Two men holding assault rifles aimed at his head loomed out of the shadowy room behind the pair. Negan straightened his back as he wore what could only be described as a shit-eating grin. The gunmen walked over to Rick after the batter quickly gestured them over. The soldiers put their guns down as they got ready to detain the injured man. Rick attempted to throw a punch at the man to the left before the one on the right slammed his head into the wall. One threw him onto his stomach, the other grabbed his arms and tied his wrists behind his back with a rope. Rick let out a groan, the cuts from the barbed wire reopened from the tightening of the restraint. His struggle to shimmy away from the Saviors was to no avail as he was pulled back into place, a boot then slamming itself into his upper back. 

Negan sucked in a laugh as he rubbed the scruff on his chin. His gaze turned down to Rick, staring into the other’s raging eyes. “Shit out of luck, Rick. All of you.”

The moments of silence that followed burned the smaller man’s ears, but he needed to think. He had a chance to get out of this as long as he could get the ropes off and grab that gun to, preferably, kill everyone in the room. He wondered about how exactly he’d end up doing that. Come to think about it, how the hell did Negan even know to ambush him here? Rick choked down a heavy breath before he spoke in the same grumble as before. He dreaded the answer he was going to receive. “What did you do…?”

Negan’s cocky, condescending look told him everything he needed to know, but of course, the man before him wasn’t going to stay silent. “ _ That _ , you’ll find out soon enough. But first I wanna have a talk. Man to man, just a nice old fashion heart to fuckin’ heart. Whadda say?”

Rick wasn’t given time to reply before Negan commanded his men to have him sit up against the wall. The change in position was by no means delicate, and he could barely move his wrists without feeling the stinging pain run throughout his arms. He caught himself staring at the pistol on the floor again, cursing at himself when Negan took the opportunity to walk over to it. The batter tsked and bent down to pick the weapon up. “Y’know, it’s really way too damn easy to figure out what you people are up to. Your kid did the same shit when we caught him,” as the man strolled ever so nonchalantly back, Rick couldn’t help but let the fear show on his face, eyes wide in disbelief. When Negan turned back to face him, he stayed quiet for a second before sighing. He tilted his head up to the other two Saviors in the room. The expression on his face turned into a deadpan stare, “go join the rest of ‘em out there. Give us a few minutes.”

The men nodded and began to walk away from the pair, heading for the door. Eyeing the gun in his hand, Negan tilted his head in thought without changing his look whatsoever. Slowly, he turned his eyes to meet Rick’s. “And just so you don’t try any more shit…” the batter cocked, aimed, and pulled the trigger of the gun all in an instant. A bullet found itself shot straight through its victim's kneecap, shattering the bone on impact. It broke through his tissue, tore his tendons, and snapped his nerves so the red liquid within him came spewing out.

Rick screamed bloody murder as the indescribable, torturous pain overcame his entire being. All he could do was bellow in agony as his leg was rendered utterly useless in seconds. He could hear his heart pounding in his chest as he choked out a few sobs. He was stuck on the floor, hyperventilating as his body refused to move. 

“You tried, Rick… but you failed,” Negan scoffed as he tucked the gun into his pants, covering it with his shirt. He walked towards the bleeding mess that was the other man. “This all coulda worked out if you just knew how to follow a few goddamn rules. And tell me if I’m being unreasonable here, but those rules weren’t real fuckin’ hard to follow. Still, you just  _ had _ to go filling everybody’s heads with the idea that you could actually get them out of this. You even had your own SON believing that shit!”

“Hell, even before this, he tried to pull a pretty badass assassination attempt. He ever tell you ‘bout that? Him comin’ to the Sanctuary  _ all by himself _ to just get a hold of me? Course things didn’t end up going his way that time either, but he got me all right, talked it out and everythin'! Let me tell you, Rick, does that kid have a whole shitload of potential. In fact, I’d even go as far to say I  _ respect _ him… I wasn’t kiddin’ when I said he asked for me to kill him-- thinkin' that his death could stop all'a this.” Negan let out a mirthless chuckle as he crouched down in front of Rick who was still weeping from the torturous amount of pain. “I’m thinkin’ that's ‘cause he actually gets how to make an  _ example _ out of things. Too bad he tried runnin’ away after. Can’t pull that shit without paying one  _ big _ fuckin’ price,” the batter grabbed Rick by his hair, snapping his head up to face him, letting out a raspy gasp as he was forced to do so. The man before him grew ever closer, whispering down his neck as he spoke, “ _ you and a whole lot more people are gonna die tonight, Rick _ .”

Feeling the larger man’s uncomfortably warm breath on his ear made him shudder in disgust, squeezing his eyes shut as he couldn’t help the tears from falling down his cheeks. He began to open his mouth, jaw trembling. He first uttered a distressed weep before any words were spoken, and Rick could only repeat what he’d already said, “wh… wha-what’d… y-you… do…? P-please…”

Negan let go of his hair and sighed, breaking eye contact to get away from Rick’s helpless, teary-eyed stare, then explaining everything that ensued before their “sorry-ass leader” showed up. “Told everybody in here they had two choices. Open the gates, line up by their houses, tell me some apologies, and the worst one I hear dies, then you die, then we go back to the way things were. Or, I blow the shit out of this place,” the man then continued to elaborate on Carl’s plan and how it all fell apart. What ate away at Rick’s heart was having to make guesses as to how his son was coping, what state he was in, and where he was now. Those details Negan had left out purposefully, Rick assumed. It only destroyed him further, “…just one little detail I can’t get my head around.”

Suddenly, Negan snapped out of his calm demeanor and clenched a hand around Rick’s throat, the smaller man helpless to stop the assault. Rick could hardly process all that he was hearing between the absurdity of his situation and the agony he was currently in. He grew dizzy within a matter of seconds at the pressure around his neck. “Your boy said Dwight helped y’all put together this little charade... how long’s he been helpin’ you?”

When Rick could merely cough out in reply, the batter lessened his grip to only slam the smaller man's head back into the wall behind him, “TELL ME.”

He was forced to obey, speaking through strained pants. “H-he… came to us, a-a few… weeks ago. Told us about… your ambush. Outposts. E-everything,” Rick managed to crack a smile despite the trauma done to his kneecap, “didn’t know… you were that stupid… to just… notice-- AAAGH!”

Negan didn’t hesitate to jam his finger into the bullet hole on the other man’s leg, another agonizing scream tearing out of his throat, and while he didn’t fall fully unconscious from the shock, Rick momentarily blacked out. His head sagged and his shoulders went limp for a little under three seconds before he was back to groaning and whimpering, stiff as a board.

Negan kept the space between them small and as he spoke in a tone so guttural and dark, every hair on the injured man’s body stood up in dread. “This is only the start of it, Rick. That’s a promise, from me to you. You gotta  _ whole _ lot more hell comin’ your way. You bet your pretty little head I’m gonna draw this all the fuck out, make everyone watch as I peel off your fuckin’ skin, nice and fuckin’ slow. Maybe I’ll even give your friends a turn or two. Then, once that’s over, I’ll start cuttin’ pieces off’a you. Start with your toes, fingers, ears, heh, probably your dick too before you’d pass out. But let’s pretend for a second that ‘cha don’t. You’re still hangin’ in there, half-dead and all mangled up just fuckin’  _ weeping, begging  _ for me to kill you. I wouldn’t give it to you, much as I’d love to see the relief on your face as I strangle your sorry ass to death, I’d hold out until you couldn’t feel a fuckin’ thing. Keep at it until you don’t even know who the fuck you are anymore. Until you’re  _ nothing _ …”

Negan clutched Rick’s face, and as he stared back, his dying eyes showed nothing but despair, “and that, Rick Grimes, is when I’m gonna kill you.”

The smaller man stayed silent as he kept his empty gaze on Negan. Tears continued to roll down his cheeks as tremors shook his body, but they weren’t for the man kneeling over him, not one bit. Rick made the effort to lean in, and as his brows furrowed with rage, he cocked his head and whispered tauntingly, “then what are you waiting for?”

The batter’s lips curled into a twisted smirk at that. He leaned away from the smaller man slowly and stood to his feet. “Exactly what I was thinkin’,” as Negan proceeded to grab him by the collar of his shirt, Rick began to struggle although only able to move the upper half of his body and his right leg. Still more or less helpless to the manhandling, he found himself quickly and rather effortlessly being pulled out of the house, Negan’s grip secured tightly around the rope tying Rick’s wrists behind his back. His arms were forced in the air as high as they could go as he was dragged out on his rear. The unnatural angle was only causing him more torment. Every disgruntled moan out of the injured man’s throat only seemed to please the other and the feeling it set in Rick’s stomach was absolute misery. 

“Get ready for the show of your fuckin’ life, Rick.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright people, here marks the tone for a lot of what's to come. All I can say is brace yourselves. A LOT is about to go down this next chapter, hence why this one was a bit shorter.  
> Also, thank you so much to everyone who has left kudos or a comment! You're awesome. ♡


	3. Carnage

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fair warning, here is where things really start to go off the deep-end. If the name of the chapter itself isn't enough of a giveaway, quite a few friendly faces meet their end here. It's sad, it's dark, and it's gory! Without further ado, let the show begin...

The blood Rick had lost, while not a devastating amount, was taking its time to slowly incapacitate him. He had stopped trying to struggle a few minutes after being pulled out onto the street; it didn’t take long for exhaustion to take over. Every one of his muscles seemed to be throbbing uncontrollably, every bone in his body had gained an indescribable heaviness, and even his wounds had become numb minus the occasional sting or two. A trail of the red liquid was left in a trail behind the pair as his wounded leg limply scrapped across the ground. The concrete underneath him eventually felt weightless after what felt like hours of being dragged, and so, his other leg followed suit of sagging in a somewhat bent position. It was pathetic, humiliating, even just to think about. Rick damned himself for being so easily subdued and now more helpless than ever. The feeling was something of hatred for both all things that be and himself.

The man couldn’t even comprehend what his hazy eyes were able to see. Burning buildings that used to house happy families, paved roads now heavily caked with ash and debris. Even the lake the community encompassed seemed unusually murky and bleak. The sound of a voice reached his ears, but he couldn’t quite distinguish it. It seemed to be coming from underneath the water itself. Rick knew it couldn’t be, but the delirious possibility startled him so.

Upon slowly tearing his eyes from the blueish-black abyss, it didn’t take him long to realize the noise was coming from Negan. The other man had been whistling for a while, Rick could process that much. But upon speaking, all the smaller man could make out was his son’s name. The fog in his head was jumbling the batter’s words. Every noise that reached his ears sounded muffled and all together distant, but one sentence he picked up clearer than any other: “I want you to know somethin’. Everything that’s about to go down here, you brought this onto all of them.”

Rick’s face was shoved onto the rough, cold concrete of the street as his wrists were finally released from Negan’s grip. Using up the last drop of his strength, the injured man scarcely managed to lift his head from off of the pavement, his cheek now dirtied with gravel and dust.

Rick was no idiot. He knew what he’d see before him, but anything to prolong the inevitable was in his best interest. He glanced to his right to see the other man’s boots next to him, then leaning back on his wrists to work himself up into an attempted sitting position. To his left, his head still turned downward, his legs laid weakly out to the side. The smaller man’s chest quickly became overwhelmed with a terrible heaviness, heart pounding. His body began to tremble as his nightmare faded into a very horrific, mind-melting reality. There was nothing to prevent this, and as rapid breaths came from Rick’s parted lips, he started to move. Tilting his head up at a snail's pace, the sight ahead was enough to make all the blood drain from his face. Wide eyes stared in horror at a scene they believed they’d never have to see again.

His friends, his family, almost everyone who had ever lived in the community had been placed on their knees, tied up in a large semi-circle in front of him and the bastard who had put them there. Behind them appeared the old Monroe family house, the towering building now smoldering as it stood half-aflame. Upon turning his head, Rick saw his world warp into the forest clearing he’d seen all those nights ago, the surrounding fires dimming into an ominous mist as the air turned frigid cold. He became lightheaded the instant he caught a glimpse of his fallen friends out of the corner of his eye. Glenn, Abraham. The breaking man choked out a nearly inaudible gasp as he snapped his head towards what he could have sworn he saw. They weren’t there. Instead, the line-up of his people blended into Negan’s. Saviors stood all around them holding guns and other assorted weapons with almost comical smirks on their faces.

Taking his eyes off of the crowd, Rick’s watery stare found itself locked on Carl. His son’s sunken in eye looked back into his own, but he couldn’t see his expression. Rick could only note how weak the boy’s body knelt onto the forest floor. No, pavement. They were on the road. Rick felt his breath hitch as he understood the malfunction of his thoughts. Realities seemed to be switching in flashes before his very eyes as if his brain couldn’t comprehend exactly where he was. In fact, for a second it felt as if he’d never even been shot in the first place.

“C-Ca-Carl--” Upon trying to writhe towards his son, he saw the boy tense, his gaze darting toward the man Rick had almost forgotten he was next to.

Negan let out an exaggerated sigh and stood in between the two, abruptly stopping Rick from moving any further. “Hey… I get it, dramatic moment. Takes a few minutes to get your bearings and all,” a laugh came from the larger man’s lips as he swung his bat over his shoulder, now glancing around at the crowd before him. “Well, would you just look at this!”

With an appalled grimace, the breaking man found himself looking in the same direction as the batter. Rick felt himself shiver upon witnessing the helpless fear in almost everyone’s eyes. Some stood strong, backs straight as an arrow as they faced the devil head-on. Others were crying, cowering, even sobbing as they hid their faces into their loved one’s sides. He had a part to play in causing this. Maybe not physically, intentionally, or by any direct means, but the dawning matter of the situation was something Rick was starting to face and the only thing he could do was watch.

“Thought y’all won now didn’t cha? Had us right by the balls, ready to take over shit and put me in the goddamn ground. You had your chance,” the batter stretched his arms open wide with a wry smile plastered on his face, turning his head from left to right with a brow cocked. In an instant, the smile was gone and replaced with a dark scowl, his voice intensifying into a yell, pointing at the crowd. “But that’s shit’s fuckin’ OVER! No more games, no more second chances, no more of the regular way of doing things! You’ve crossed the line one too many FUCKIN’ TIMES! You’ve all _lost_ , it’s _finished_. And I promise you are gonna _so_ regret EVER fuckin’ crossing me…”

Rick noted how they all stared at Negan with either terrified uncertainty or passionate hatred. All except one. Continuing to scan the group laid out in front of him, the breaking man’s gaze met Michonne’s. Panic rose in his chest upon noticing Judith curled away, whimpering into her chest. As Michonne held their child securely in her unbound arms, she didn’t seem angry or afraid, simply distraught as she looked him over. It tore him apart. Rick felt embarrassed about how pitiful he must have appeared to her. Beat-up, bruised, bloodied.

The batter paced back and forth in front of the crowd of Alexandrians until stalling for a moment, standing by Rick’s side once again. “I have my men dealin’ with those sorry fucks at the Hilltop and Kingdom as we speak. So don’t expect another goddamn rescue party comin’ to save your asses. _No one's_  comin’… the Widow-- _Maggie’s_ \-- group, far as I know they’re gettin’ out of this lucky. They get to go back home, produce for us, _provide_ as things should fuckin’ be. The Kingdom, how-fucking-ever, everyone there that knows how to hold a goddamn hammer is goin’ back to the Sanctuary since you all decided to make that place one giant fuckin’ mess. And the King, well, he’s gotta die. So does someone from the Hilltop. And so. Does. Rick,” a condescending smirk came from the larger man as he glanced down at a particular person in the line, “Dwight ever get tell y’all about that part?”

Negan strolled closer to his former soldier who was glaring past him without a hint of remorse. Rick felt his shoulders tense as the batter positioned Lucille before the blonde’s nose. He sounded overly tranquil. “Ohh, Dwighty boy, I really thought you put all that shit behind you! I thought you _finally_ had fallen in line… but what did you do? You not only betray my trust, switch sides, and weasel your way out of every potential consequence while feedin’ information to these people, but you even went as far as helpin’ kill your _own_ ,” he sucked in through his teeth, tone switching sinister, “damn. I knew we had some bad blood, but to go this far? Shit, I never thought you had it in ya. My bad… so, what? Hm? You think you’re some sorta 'hero' out here workin’ for ‘the greater good’? You’re not. You’re nothin’ but a nobody in way over your fuckin’ head.”

Negan grew eerily close as he spat out the venomous words in Dwight’s face, but the man barely flinched. He sat upright as he stared deeper into the other’s dark eyes, unmoved, unbothered, “Do whatcha gotta do.”

With a rush of anger, the batter threw Lucille into the damaged side of man’s face with a hard swing. The hit caused Rick and a few others to jump, some beginning to cry, some like his daughter. Immediately, his eyes were directed to Judith’s sobs. Michonne only held her tighter. The breaking man felt himself shaking more harshly as he then bowed his head in shame, only slightly relieved that Negan didn’t pursue the assault. He proceeded to walk away, pacing in furious strides as his tirade continued on.

“I _know_ what I have to do to make every single one of you understand exactly what a dire fuck-up you’ve all made, and that all starts AND ends with him!” the larger man pointed his bat at Rick, not a single glimpse of enjoyment present in his expression before he turned back to the crowd. “Rick Grimes is no longer your leader anymore! That title now belongs to me, the Saviors. We’re in control of everything you people do from now on. Same goes for the other communities. Now, that fact might take some time for all of you to process, but process it you most certainly mother-fuckin’ will!”

Negan sickly chuckled at the similar line he’d spoken the first time everyone was gathered like this. Rick, on the other hand, could only let out a bitter growl as the pair’s eyes met yet again. The batter seemed as if he was contemplating him, scanning his body with an almost curious gaze. His voice was quieter now. “The way you people look up to him for guidance, actin’ like he’s some kinda revolutionary out to stomp out the big, bad evil… it makes me sick.”

The batter looked over the group and groaned slightly, his volume increasing to be heard more clearly, “You’re no better than we are, you're no more ‘right’. If anything, you’re all just incredibly goddamn stupid for havin’ believed in him for so long. He got you here, fucked all’a your heads up so you’re more stubborn than a mule about submitting, letting things go their goddamn course. And now, this has to get a whole lot more bloody than I would have liked… and at the end of this, if you’re not _dead_ , you’re gonna be workin’ 24 fuckin’ 7 in gettin’ us supplies to help fix the huge shit you took all over everythin’. I don’t care if you’re starvin’, hurt, crippled, whatever the fuck. You work. But some of you, hell, some of you might even be lucky enough to come back to the Sanctuary with us… like Carl over here.”

Rick’s stomach dropped as he looked over to his son, his pale face unable to even turn to glance at Negan’s. His son’s chest was rising and falling rapidly as a glossy eye stared out into the black horizon. It seemed as if he was almost frozen in place.

“I’ve been thinkin’ over it for a while, kid, and I know _exactly_ how you’re gonna fit into all’a this. I’m gonna take you under my wing, train you up into bein’ one badass soldier of mine. Might take a few years, sure. But I’m gonna make it work. Sooner or later. Me and you, Carl, we’re gonna be a goddamn force to be reckoned with,” the gleeful tone in the larger man’s words made Rick ill. Negan wanted to make a show of his son's death and then turn him into a mindless killing machine. The breaking man felt disgusted, but the look his boy now wore surprised him. It was one of sadness, not fear, not anger. And when he spoke up, his blood went cold.

“You can’t…”

The batter couldn’t help but let out a small chuckle, taken aback, “Excuse me? I sure as hell can. I know it probably doesn’t sound like a nice idea to you now, but eventually--”

“I’m already _dead_!” Carl’s lips quivered as he slowly looked over to his father, a single heartbroken eye staring into his soul. Tears fell from it like a river. It was only now that he noticed how terribly infected his son appeared. His boy’s soft, hushed voice came out in one final confession, “I got bit.”

Rick couldn’t breathe, couldn’t move, couldn’t even express anything more than complete dismay. As all his surroundings blurred around him, the breaking man just barely heard Michonne try to deny his son’s claim. Carl’s head tilted to stare at the ground in an attempt to convey that this wasn’t some type of trick. Rick barely shook his head as his voice started to come out, breaking. “N-no… Carl-- Carl? H… how?”

The boy inhaled deeply as he looked back at his father. It seemed they were given the liberty to speak as Negan remained completely silent. “I was helping someone… the man we saw at the gas station. His name’s Siddiq… I brought him back. B-before this…”

Rick shut his eyes as he tried to understand what his son was saying. He had been helping a stranger and got bit because of it. After all this time of trying to protect him, trying to keep him safe, he had gotten bit. He’d thought walkers were barely even a threat to them anymore, and yet, he had gotten bit.

“We were attacked, one of them got me, and it just- it just happened…”

He couldn’t accept it, not after everything they've been through. It just couldn’t be. Rick continued to protest in delirium. “No, no… it- it’s them. The Saviors. They-- they did…” he cut himself on, tearing his face away as he felt himself begin to cry. He bit the inside of his cheek in an attempt to compose himself. He couldn’t.

“No.” Negan’s low tone came out short, seemingly affected by the tragedy and offended Rick would accuse him of causing the boy's affliction. “It wasn’t us. If you even heard a _damn_ thing I just said, you know it wasn’t,” looking down to the man at his feet to view his overwhelmed, incriminating expression, he sighed again, “you’re a goddamn idiot, Rick.”

Only after a long, empty silence-- apart from the sounds of a roaring fire and a baby's whines-- did the batter move. He walked around to Rick’s back, gripping his restrains as he placed his bat onto the ground. Withdrawing his hunting knife, he cut the rope around the other man’s wrists. Rick looked up at him with furious teary eyes. “Wh-what?”

“Plan’s changed.” Negan started to grab the pistol from his belt, his devoid stare gazing at the smaller man. Rick drew back, his eyes widening at the implication before him. “It’s only a matter of time before he goes… ain’t nothin’ we can do. You don’t wanna see ‘em turn. Hell, I don’t. So we’re gonna do it like this.”

Speechless, the breaking man was given the gun. He held it in his hands, staring at the weapon as if he had never seen a gun before. Negan knelt down on one knee beside the other man, placing a heavy hand on Rick’s shoulder with genuine empathy, “You’re goin' to do this. There’s no way out of it. He’s your boy, and it’s gotta happen. Right here. Right now.”

The smaller man looked up at him. All he could do was plead for his son to just have a little more time to live, but all that left his lips were incoherent jumbles of words.

Carl spoke up once more, and it tore his attention away from Negan. Despite the tears in his son’s eye, he almost looked at peace. “Dad… it’s ok. You have to-- there's no other choice. I just… I want you to know, I’m sorry… I’m sorry I failed you. I wanted to show you that I was strong enough to handle things on my own. I couldn’t.”

“Carl--”

“Everything… it can still be like how it was before. Please, just, let this be the end of it. I… I just want you to find peace. After everything that’s happened, after everyone who’s died because of this… there doesn’t have to be any more fighting, it can all end here,” the boy finally took a glance at Negan, looking between him and his father as he struggled to keep his words concise, there clearly being so much more he wished he could say, “no one else has to die.”

After a few quiet seconds, Negan let go of the smaller man’s shoulder. The batter sounded sorrowful as he spoke out his next words, “lift up the gun, Rick.”

The breaking man heard Michonne, Daryl, and a few others raise their voice immediately in objection as he did as the batter asked. He had obliged mechanically, not willingly, and his friend’s cries became indistinguishable from one another.

“No!”

“Negan, you don’t have to do this!”

“Someone, stop this, please!”

Rick’s head was buzzing as his gaze fixed onto Carl’s. He wasn’t going to be able to do this. He couldn’t. To kill the last of his blood, like this, it felt like a fate worse than death. His hands trembled violently as he gripped the pistol, sweat beginning to build between his palms, and suddenly, the breaking man began to cave in, “I-I can’t… I can’t, not Ca-- not my _son_ … no--”

A hard grip clutched the back of Rick’s collar as Negan pulled him, his back forced straight up. “Yes, you CAN! And you are GOING to! Don’t make this any more painful than it already is. Don’t make me do this _for you_ , Rick!”

The smaller man choked out a painful sob as the gun in his hands only wavered around more. While his son seemed to have accepted what was going to become of him, Rick only let this further skew his thoughts. Carl believed this could be the answer to everything, that if he were to do this, then maybe no more death would come from any of this. Even that proposal seemed to have gotten through to Negan, of all people. But how could he let himself shoot his child for the sake of obeying to some demented man’s command? This was his child. “N-no! No…”

“RICK!”

As the buzzing in his head only grew louder, the breaking man felt his hands freeze in place, his aim straight for Carl’s now shut eye. His own expression grew blank, chest heaving as he prepared for what he was going to do next. And then he remembered: his wrists were unbound, he had his gun.

In a flash, Rick screamed out in passionate animosity upon turning the pistol at Negan’s head. Their eyes locked for a split-second, sapphire against dark hazel, and he took the shot.

The crowd erupted into a frenzy as the deafening gunshot rang throughout the town. The Alexandrian’s were now wriggling around, some trying to move away, some attempting to get closer, all in a panic. Every Savior with a gun now had them drawn, pointing at the gathering of terrified prisoners, yelling and shouting for them to stay still, get back in line, and stay quiet. A few had instantly tackled on top of Rick, disarming him and slamming him roughly into the concrete. He barely even felt the pain it caused him. All he could do was stare wide-eyed at Negan’s bleeding face.

He missed.

“MOTHER FUCKING SON OF A _BITCH_! FUCK!” the batter was gripping his face as he jumped up from off of the ground, then pulling his hand away to examine the pool of thick red liquid that had collected on to his palm. Rick could see the meager extent of the damage he had inflicted. “You did NOT just DO THAT SHIT!” despite the copious amount of blood, he had just managed to graze Negan’s check, the bullet also taking a minor chunk out of the top of his ear. Seeming to have walked it off, Negan’s teeth clenched together as he shook his bloodied hand off. The larger man grabbed his bat from up off the ground, letting out a pained and maddened yell.

“FUCKING FINE! HAVE IT YOUR WAY, RICK! You’re not just putting yourself through this, not just your people, but your SON!” the man in front of him had fully snapped. As Rick was pinned to the ground by powerful hands and strong bodies, he could only watch helplessly as the bloodied man walked towards Carl. The boy stared up in horror as he readied his bat. Rick begged, screamed, cried out for Negan to stop, but his words fell on deaf ears.

The batter's voice was breaking as he spoke his last goodbye to the boy, “I wanted this to be quick, I really did… but you were right, kid. It wasn’t supposed to be this way-- this isn’t who I wanted to be. But I have to,”

Rick’s entire world fell apart the very second he noticed his son look towards him to mouth the words “I love you, Dad”. And then everything went still.

“ _NO_!”

First swing. Carl’s head was hit infinitely harder than anything he’d ever witnessed before, his skull completely split along the back. The boy’s hat had fallen off in front of his body. As blood gushed from the crack, he was rendered unconscious, if not dead, instantly. “I HAVE TO!”

Second swing. Brain matter had started to escape from the head wound as Rick began to weep, struggling with everything he had in him to still try to save his son. But those who held him in place rendered his attempt meaningless. “BECAUSE OF PEOPLE LIKE HIM!”

Third swing. Lucille had picked up a lump of his flesh, torn out hair also sticking to the bat. Rick stopped moving. “PATHETIC,”

Fourth swing. Carl’s skull had become significantly flattened. There was almost nothing left. “DUMBASS,”

Fifth swing. He was all gone. “PIECES OF SHIT!”

It felt like an eternity before Negan had finally stopped, his breaths coming out uneasy, his hands twitching as Lucille wobbled in his grasp. The bloodied man lifted his crimson bat, the expression on his face unclear as his silhouette stood by the boy’s fallen body, backlit by the fire that had grown behind them all. He slowly crept into view before Rick, blood dripping out of his ear and cheek as he looked down at the smaller man. The batter seemed distraught, and if he didn’t know any better, he would have sworn the other man was close to tears. But Rick, however, had reached full hysteria, a grieving, snotty mess sprawled out on the road. At this point, Negan’s men had already taken their hold off of him, but he hadn’t noticed. He was paralyzed. Broken.

The batter spoke faintly, the screams and cries of those around Rick sounding equally far-off, “Tell me you surrender. Tell me, and this stops.”

Rick didn’t nudge, unable to do anything but sob. He hardly tried to stop himself, and Negan didn’t take kindly to it. After a few torturously long seconds, his fury had returned. He heard the other man screaming again.

“Nothing? REALLY? Fuck, sure, whatever YOU _WANT_ , RICK!”

He couldn’t process any of it. While he knew what he was seeing before him, he couldn’t react anymore. All Rick pained for was his son. He was gone, not quickly, not gently. He had suffered up until the point of his death. Now everything was red and all that came next appeared to him in flashes.

The next to go was Dwight, the bloodied man relating him to some sort of rodent as he drew out his death, evident as his skull was caved in with slower, duller hits. Rick merely watched, or rather, watched past it. His stare was drawn to the burning structure behind them as blazing pieces of wood fell to the ground, flicking out hot pieces of amber close to the already panicked gathering. He grew quiet, no longer weeping.

Then it was Rosita. More desperate cries rose from his people, more screaming. But they weren’t his people anymore, were they? Rick was going to die and Negan would take his place. That was how it was going to be and there was absolutely nothing to stop it. In a sickening way, it almost felt like a release for the broken man as he now fully understood and believed what Negan had said before. This was all his fault. Every decision he’d ever made had led him to this point. To die here would leave everyone else better off. It was cowardly, it was shameful, it was abhorrent, but it was what he had come to accept, just as Carl had. It was fate. But as his mind processed the thought, it hardly felt like he was truly thinking such depressing ideas.

Upon the fourth murder, Rick started to escape from his catatonia. His empty eyes glanced towards those of his half-alive, bleeding friend’s. He watched as Negan relentlessly bashed her head in, heaving as he did so. His vision no longer blurred together, and he could make out the face to have belonged to Tara’s. His heart grew heavy as he tried sputtering out words from his locked jaw, shivering as he did so, “O-oh, god… n-no… no.”

Only then did the broken man understand what was happening in front of him. He was watching his friends die a bloody, horrifying death as he sat there too weak to do a thing. Rick was taken aback for a moment, so much so it was as if he hadn’t been physically there for the entire duration of the torture and only now walked in on it. He was losing his mind. And as Negan took his final swings to the corpse, he realized that the other man had been yelling at him since his initial “black-out”.

“HOW MANY MORE FUCKING PEOPLE HAVE TO DIE, RICK? HOW MANY UNTIL YOU REALIZE YOU’VE _LOST_?” Negan screamed towards the broken man, his bat wholly caked with blood and flesh and hair as he gestured with it. It seemed his voice had grown nearly raw, his posture appearing more crooked in the fiery light. It sounded as if his slaughter was becoming a hassle. “JUST SAY THE FUCKING _WORD_ AND WE ARE _DONE_!”

The thoughts inside Rick’s head hadn’t fully returned to him yet, causing him to stare on in appalled confusion as he looked at the bloodied man. He was back to his senses, all he wanted was to let this be over, but he didn’t know what to say. The actuality terrified him.

Negan stalked towards the people in the middle of the crowd, eyeing for the next person to get the dishonor of meeting the unkind end of his bat. “I WAS FINE WITH TAKING OUT THREE, FUCK, MAYBE EVEN JUST TWO. ENOUGH TO LIGHT A FIRE UNDER YOUR ASS. BUT NO,” the batter readied his grip on Lucille, his hands tightening around her handle, “NO, YOU WANNA KEEP GIVING ME THE SILENT TREATMENT! CAN’T SAY I’M TOO BIG OF A FAN OF IT, RICK. STARTING TO HURT MY FEELINGS HERE!”

As soon as the other man turned over towards Michonne and Judith, wailing in her arms, the broken man had fully snapped out of his stupor. Rick shot up from where he lay on the ground, his hand’s wobbling as he supported his torso back up. He remembered what he had to say.

“SURRENDER! I-I SURRENDER! I SURRENDER! I surrender… I… surrender…” Rick trailed off, continuing to murmur to himself as fresh tears found themselves trailing down his cheeks, his body rattling where he sat, defeated. He watched the batter lower his weapon, standing still as he towered over the woman, child, and so many other corpses. He saw the other man’s head haltingly turn to where Carl’s decaying body laid, but Rick couldn’t look at the sight. He needed to remain grounded, remain somewhat together before his time that would surely end in the coming moments.

But it didn’t.

The broken man found Negan couched in front of him, Lucille held to his side rather than over his own head. He grabbed Rick’s jaw tightly. His gloved hand felt as if it was tearing into his skin as it pressed against his cheeks. Their eyes met yet again, the man bearing dark hazel speaking in a voice so deep that the other felt it rippling through him, “This war is fucking over, Rick. It’s over.”

All he could do was give a nod in confirmation, too startled at the fact he was still breathing. Rick knew that would soon be answered by the sudden pondering look on the batter’s face; he was considering something. As Negan stood back up, no ounce of glee was there to be heard in his words as he barked out his next demands with intense seriousness, “No one leaves, no one eats, no one does at much as take a fucking piss without one of my men having an eye on you. I’ll send a cleanup crew once we get the rest of this shit settled, but only, and I mean _only_ enough so that my people have a comfortable place to set up camp. Until then, everyone in one house, I want these pricks under full surveillance every goddamn second. Once the fire dies, you get to fucking work. We’ll figure out the logistics later. Understood?”

A majority of the Savior’s replied with a stern “yes sir” or a curt nod, but one man had pointed down to Rick with an unamused stare as if he were nothing more than a piece of litter on the floor. “What do we do with him?”

Negan had already begun to walk towards the main gates, not bothering to turn back around as he replied, “Tie somethin’ around his  leg so he doesn’t bleed everywhere, then take him to my truck. He’s comin’ with us.”

The broken man darted his eyes at Negan, his men, and then the rest still on their knees. They looked to be in as much terror as he was. Rick was sure they would have tried to retaliate if they weren’t already traumatized enough. And Negan’s goons, well, they didn’t seem terribly happy either.

The guilt began to eat away at the broken man as a bitter taste started to form in his mouth. No one spoke a word, and the quietness of it all nearly made Rick pass out. This couldn’t be possible, not any of it. He felt his world caving in on itself as he thought of everything that had just ensued. An ally of theirs, two of his dearest friends, and his son had all died in one night behind their own walls all while he watched. He almost got his lover and only child killed purely because he had practically zoned out during the thick of it. And now, he wouldn’t get to go back to them, to help them through this, to hold them close and lie to them as he assured them that everything would be okay. No, he was going away, indefinitely, to live with the monster that took their lives. He got to live with the crushing responsibility that he had poked the bull and ended up putting everyone he had ever cared about in harm's way. 

The self-hatred was consuming him, destroying every bit of emotion he had yet to release, but Rick had now reached the point where no more tears could fall from his burning eyes. He had lowered his gaze to see that his leg had already been haphazardly patched up though he couldn’t remember that anyone had even touched him. As abruptly as he had noticed the tourniquet around his limb, he was being dragged away to Negan, to the Sanctuary.

Rick’s desolate glare stared into the starry sky above. This was no longer his home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There we have it! I know, I'm terrible, I apologize. But tell me what you guys think! Thoughts, feelings, predictions of what's next? Lay it on me! Next update might take a tiny bit longer because I've barely started on it, but for the next while the plot's all planned out. Strap in for a wild ride, folks. It's gonna be a long one.


	4. At the Bottom of Everything

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the bit of a wait! Depriving myself of sleep is, in fact, not helping me write more. But you'd be surprised at how much of a challenge it is to write something with a lot less action after so much of it. If there are any errors I didn't catch, I apologize. But, enjoy!

It was a bit of a surprise that Rick had made it to the vehicle before the other man, but he didn’t bother questioning it. If anything, it was a relief to be given space no matter how temporary his time alone ended up being. Nevertheless, the broken man could hardly relax in the cushioned seat beneath him. While it was an improvement from laying out on the pavement, he found it impossible to get comfortable. With every blink, the images of bleeding corpses and terrified faces flooded his vision. It was as if his own mind was haunted with the memory. The panic coursing through his veins only worsened upon the realization that after everything, this wasn’t the end of it. God, how he wished it to be.

Despite it all, Rick wanted to stay strong, he truly did, But as soon as the driver's side door opened with an ominous creak, he didn’t dare turn his head towards the source of the noise. Knowing what his eyes would be met with if he were to glance over, he kept his gaze drawn to the glove compartment in front of him. In a cowardly show of fear and submission, the broken man only cringed further away from Negan as the truck door was slammed shut. It’d only been minutes, _minutes_ since the slaughter, and Rick was nowhere close to being able to compose himself. For christ sake, he could barely keep his hands still.

The smaller man sluggishly shifted his downturned eyes towards the walkie-talkie in Negan’s gloved hand. The batter’s more than displeased voice seemed to boom throughout the enclosed space, but luckily enough he wasn’t the one being spoken to yet.

“Gavin, Simon, get the King and Widow someplace where they can hear this. Rick’s got somethin’ to say,” hardly a second of static followed before Negan pushed a button back down on the radio, “I’ll wait.”

After another brief span of time, Rick could feel the larger man’s burning gaze on him. He loathed the belittling feeling. Upon shutting his eyes in an attempt to rid of his growing anxiety, he let out a resentful grunt as he remembered witnessing a similar reaction displayed on his son. He remembered him cowering the other man’s gaze, afraid. The seething hatred in his heart only grew as the broken man drew open his eyes towards the Negan’s now bandaged face. A gloved hand was cupping a cloth to his ear. 

Rick’s voice came out nothing short of a growl, “ _What_?”

“Cut that fuckin’ tone before I change my mind about keepin’ you alive.”

It was barely a threat on Negan’s part. An equivalent amount of exhaustion and anger shown through his own expression. Rick got the message, as much as he loathed himself for gradually lowering his gaze elsewhere. It was still enough of a show that he wasn’t going to fully bend over and give himself up to the other man.

After a heavy sigh, the batter started talking again. “Do somethin’ good for a change and don’t let any more of these shit-for-brains go and kill themselves for you. _You_ tell them that this war is finished, to stand down, to _give up_ . You tell them _exactly_ what happened-- all of it,” Negan shuffled in his chair, moving his blood-soaked bat in between the two of them, “you do that, and better yet, they _listen_ , then this might actually work in your favor. Hell of a theory, but we’ll give it a shot.”

Rick barely had a second to think before static came through from the radio resting on Negan’s thigh. A faded voice spoke on the other end. The smaller man promptly recognized it to be Maggie’s.

“ _Rick…?_ ”

Negan held up the device and piped in as soon as Rick tried to open his mouth, “We got the King here yet?”

A moment of silence passed before another response was heard, “ _Indeed you do..._ ”

Neither of them sounded pleased in the slightest.

With that, Negan shoved the walkie-talkie into the smaller man’s trembling hand. “Have at it, and don’t,” he pointed a finger in the other man’s face, narrowing his eyes in emphasis, “fuck this up.”

“M-Maggie, Ezekiel,” Rick started before pausing abruptly. He felt a whole new weight crashing down onto his shoulders. He understood Negan’s commands, and he understood that this had to be done, to admit defeat. It shouldn’t have taken his breath away, and yet, it did. He audibly exhaled into the radio before continuing, the shame clear in his voice. “We- we, uh… we were attacked. They… it’s over.”

Static. Eventually, he picked up Maggie’s voice on the other line. She sounded frantic, and it only wrecked him more, “ _Rick? Rick, what do you mean, what happened?_ ”

Tumbling over his words, the broken man could only just manage to explain himself to them. He never imagined it would have come to this, let alone so bluntly. “Negan… his men, they-- they bombed the place, took over. Everything’s destroyed, and they k-killed-- he lined us all up. Carl’s… they killed him. _He_ killed him. With the _bat_ ,” venom coated his every word. 

If he held the radio any harder, it might as well had snapped in his hands. “Tara, Rosita… they’re all gone. He told me to surrender to make it _stop_ . I-I did and I’m… I’m no longer in charge of Alexandria. It was the _only_ way. He would’a killed everyone--”

Out of his peripherals, he spotted Negan staring at him with some bit of satisfaction. As the other man gestured out a hand wishing for more to be said, he cocked a brow at Rick, “ _And_?”

The broken man tried not to glare in response, drawing his swollen eyes back towards the walkie-talkie. It was hard enough to speak, as messily as the words came tumbling from his lips. All Rick could do to contain his devastation was to allow his mind to go blank, to stop thinking. He shut his eyes tightly to hold back his tears. He’d never felt so desperate, his voice breaking whilst he pleaded, “I-I need you to surrender. All of you, please. Even if just one of you… if _one_ of you tried _anythin’_ , tried fightin’ back-- I can’t… _we_ can’t lose anybody else. Th-this… this is it. Please… let this be it. We’ve lost… it’s over.”

There wasn’t a response, rather, Negan didn’t allow it. He snatched the radio from the smaller man’s trembling grasp as he spat out a few more commands to his men on the other channel, no doubt close by while Rick had spoken. Next, the device was discarded. 

Rick wasn’t provided the solace of hearing his friend’s replies. He was left clueless, to wonder if his words had gotten through and, hell, if he’d ever even get to see their faces again. Now, they were off to the Sanctuary.

* * *

Broken, dull eyes shot open to survey a small, dimly lit room of concrete as an intense pain within him faded into numbness. Overexertion to nothing. Too tired to blink, Rick’s blurry vision slowly focused towards his arms, bandaged and tended to. They laid in front of the injured man’s dirtied face as he rested uncomfortably on the frigid ground. He grunted with a harsh tone of disgust but could do nothing more than stare at them. Contemplate them. Loath the meaning of what his battered limbs reminded him of. He wanted to get away from the sight, at least move his head in another direction. He tried doing so only for nothing to happen. 

His frail body trembled yet again, a subtle but growing irritation wrapped in his intestines. Rick shut his eyes in an attempt to recollect himself. 

Fluttering them back open, tears began caressing his cheeks. The man noted how bittersweet the feeling was. He additionally noted that romanticizing the moment made him significantly more astonished in himself. He was delirious. Letting out a weak grunt, a burning pain ran throughout Rick’s leg after he attempted moving it. The only thing more agonizing was another memory that pulsed through his aching head at the feeling of it. Pondering his faded recollection, he thought of the experience like the agony felt in a dream, so believably real and terrifying yet unable to feel the true pain of it. 

It hurt to lay. In Rick’s struggle to move everything but his bum knee, he let out a quiet, hoarse yelp, his grimy body just barely able to lift up a portion of his weight. Tensing his sweat-ridden muscles, he shifted his bare back to rest against the rough wall, panting shakily. An overwhelming feeling of heaviness struck the injured man with force causing his head to hang down weakly, drenched brown strands of hair falling over his face. His world was starting to spin, no longer able to distract himself from the mental torment. 

He was conscious, fully so. And perhaps that was more terrifying than all else. 

Drops of sweat began falling down his face, his mouth hanging open in an attempt to cool himself down. Rick’s eyes stung the longer he kept them open and the light seeping through the doorway only seemed to fade darker.

_Where the hell am I?_  

In a cell, he could comprehend that much. It was cramped, incredibly dark, and barren. Not even a bucket could be seen in the room. He was patched up as well, his wounds seemingly disinfected and bandaged. His leg was in a makeshift brace, laid out as straight as a board. But his clothes were missing, most of them anyway. All that remained on his frail body were boxer shorts. He couldn’t remember any of it, nor how long he must had been unconscious. Christ, he’d been awake for less than five minutes and he already felt completely exposed and pathetic. Rick groaned and ran his hands through his hair to scrape it out of his face. He had to have been in what Negan and his men called “the hole”, a vacant, dingy storage room Daryl had described when the Saviors had taken him. 

_Daryl…_

In an instant, Rick was eager to jump up and burst his way out of the cell, to rid of everyone that came his way. He was out for blood. He wanted to kill. He wanted to rip Negan’s limbs off and string him up on his own damn fence. But that wouldn’t have been the start of it. He would slaughter every one of his men in front of him first, maybe even force him to do it himself. He’d be certain to torture the man until he was begging for death. He wanted to make that son of a bitch pay for everything he had put his people through.

But Rick couldn’t even walk. He could barely move. Negan had shot him. He had demolished his home, stripped him from power, taken him away from his family, and brought him _here_. He had killed his friends. His son. The injured man gritted his teeth harshly in his recollection of all that had happened, all that Negan had done to them. He couldn’t contain all of his distress, his head pounding harder and harder as he delved deeper into his own head. To merely sit there, depressing himself into oblivion? He couldn’t.

Spotting a shadow shuffle from the bottom of the doorframe, he balled his fist. Fury overtook his feeble body as Rick pounded his hand into the metal. He yelled out in a voice so raw it felt as though his throat was bleeding. Nonetheless, he screamed with everything he had left.

“HEY! ASSHOLE! YOU AT THE DOOR! WHERE THE _HELL_ IS HE?”

There wasn’t a response. Despite the strain, Rick was nowhere near backing down and continued shouting profanities at the guard until he worked a reaction out of the unfortunate soul.

The man came shouting back in a distinctly southern accent, “Jesus Christ-- keep it the hell down in there! P- _lease_!”

Rick only continued to bang at the door, “Call him on your goddamn radio! Get me Negan! NOW!”

“I said shut the fuck _UP_ !” the guard roared out, flinging the door open and swiftly kicking Rick’s head in. A harsh knock sounded as his skull collided with the concrete wall he was pressed against. Yelping out in pain, Rick clutched the bleeding scrape on his face as the other man continued. “I _ain’t_ takin’ orders from you, shithead! You forget that part or som’in’? You ain’t in charger ‘a _shit_ no more! Hell, if I was the big man, you w’uldn’t even be breathin’! Ain’t nobody but him happy ‘ur not dead yet! But fuck, a job’s a job, I just don’t recall havin’ to put up wit’ ‘ur yappin’ the second you come to! So stay fuckin’ _quiet_ and maybe I don’t--”

Before any more of the man’s enlightening speech could reach Rick’s ears, a sharp whistle filled the air that stopped the guard from saying any more.

Speak of the devil.

As the noise drifted closer, the guard seemed to have shrunk in fear, his shoulders sagging as he turned towards the sound. Negan crept into Rick’s view, his cheek stitched and ear clearly missing a moderately large piece out of the top. He was holding what appeared to be a ball of clothes while he smiled down at the other man with condescension.

“Randy! Ahh, Randy, ain’t this a _damn_ surprise?”

This man, Randy, seemed horrified, “N-Negan, sir, I was jus’--”

He shut his eyes and briefly put a hand out in front of his soldier’s face to coax him to keep quiet. “Save it,” in a fraction of a second he was back to grinning like a madman, “we heard ya.”

It was at this point that Rick detected two other men standing behind their leader, glaring down at their prisoner in what he assumed to be disgust. Rick glared back with somewhat of a snarl. 

Negan, oblivious to the others exchange, then tilted his head at Randy as the tension in the air only grew, “Now, what did I tell you about opening this door?”

“...To not to.”

“Yes! Very _good_ , Randy!” the batter praised before his lips fell into a concerned frown, turning towards Rick. “But you did, and worse, you _damaged_ my prize, hurt his feelings!” Negan sounded as if he were trying to communicate with a child and was behaving even odder. It did nothing to ease Rick’s already churning stomach. What he was witnessing just beyond the doorway felt like some deranged fever dream, and he would have started laughing if he wasn’t so incredibly intimidated by looking into Negan’s stare. But his brain latched itself onto one particular word.

_‘Prize’_. 

“I think, to make up for such a _rude_ outburst, you should apologize.”

Randy seemed bewildered as he glanced down at Rick, but to his near amusement, the apology came as weirdly convincing as it was. “I’m… sorry,” he turned his weary eyes back towards his leader, “sir, it won’t happen no more, I _swear_ \--”

“Hey, hey! Slow down there-- who said anything about you gettin’ a second shot?” Negan let out a loud, belittling laugh before his gaze turned completely dull. “Get this sorry-asshole the fuck outta my sight.”

As the frightened guard pleaded for another chance, the two men previously standing by the batter were now toting Randy away down a gloomy, gray hall. “Send someone down who’s a bit more goddamn _reliable_ to take his shift. We’re creating order here, people. I ain’t runnin’ a daycare.” Negan huffed out a chuckle at his own words before smiling down at Rick. “Sorry you had to see that, the locals haven’t been thrilled about you being alive and all. Sure you can understand,” he then took a step inside the room.

Vulnerability and fear punched the smaller man in the gut with force. Before he could even comprehend his actions, Rick was leaning back on his hands attempting to crawl away from the other man, snapping out like a cornered animal. “What the _hell_ is this!?”

Negan’s brows shot up in confusion, his wry grin only spreading. “Woah there! Jesus, will you calm down? I’m not here to hurt ‘cha, _unless_ you make me. Not that you even can, I mean, shit, look at you.” 

Rick only grimaced back up at him. Sure he wasn’t a sight for sore eyes, but what concerned the man more was the overwhelming uneasiness that ran through his blood from the batter merely approaching him. A reaction from trauma. Beyond that, he felt completely despondent. While he had cowered to Negan before, it felt different now. Rick knew all too well that there wasn’t an easy escape out of this hell, if any at all. And the nauseating feeling it set in his gut was anything but pleasant. 

The injured man watched as Negan then gestured out what he held in his hands. A large off-white shirt and grey sweatpants, both items stained. The cap of a canteen and some sort of wrapper prodded out through the clothing. “I brought housewarming gifts.”

Rick stared at the “gift” bleary-eyed. _You’ve got to be fucking kidding me_ . Directing his attention back at the man before him, he looked absolutely floored, “ _What_?”

The batter rolled his eyes, plopping the items down in front of the other man before leaning back against the doorframe. Negan respecting Rick’s own desperate need for personal space seemed strange, but he wasn’t about to argue over it in the hope that the distance would remain. The batter then crossed his arms, the lack of playfulness apparent in his tone, “I came to update you since you’re finally fuckin’ up.”

“How long?” Rick murmured out in a short breath, his eyes now focused on the wide-open door before him. “How long was I out?” with every second it was becoming increasingly harder to maintain his boiling rage. He figured if he didn’t have to look at the man then maybe he wouldn’t lash out and try clawing away his eyes.

The batter casually shrugged his shoulders, “Don’t know. Two, three days? It’s been busy around here-- since you and your pals decided to turn this place into a _shithole_.”

Rick practically scoffed. Left in a cell unattended to and unconscious for several days? He could have died from that alone. A tiny prick shot through his brain, a flickering thought only present for little under a second. It would have been a _relief_ if that had killed him. But undoubtedly, he hadn't fully been abandoned as such. Negan wanted him alive for some godforsaken reason. The man must have sent the Sanctuary's doctor in to check on his ailments. Dr.Carson. The _Hilltop’s_ doctor, he reminded himself, not theirs.

His tired sapphire eyes remained glued towards the hallway as the other man began speaking once more. “Your little speech worked, by the way. Your friends stepped down, my guys took their place. Course it wasn’t that easy, but more or less everythin’ went by pretty smoothly. Hilltop had taken in some prisoners of their own, which they _graciously_ returned. And the Kingdom’s people, well, they’d already tried to escape before your message could be received. We caught ‘em yesterday, outnumbered those helpless shits and got the jump on ‘em. Took our share to the Sanctuary, let the rest go back home to take care of my men stationed at the Kingdom. And Alexandria, they’re workin’ on it. Not exactly a main priority right now, but they’re cooperatin’ about as well as we expected. We gotta few groups out scavenging for materials to rebuild some of the houses, but shit, half of them are just _pathetic_ ! It makes me _embarrassed_ that those are the people that killed so many of my guys,” Negan crouched down to face the other man, tilting his head in sincere confusion, as if he didn’t mean to sound so incredibly insulting, “seriously, Rick, what? I already kill all’a your best men?”

The way the smaller man’s eyes pierced through the others with violent hatred told him enough. Negan slowly reeled back, muttering out, “Damn… guess I really did.”

So close to losing his composure right then and there, Rick sighed out angrily as he looked away. He had people left, people he dearly loved and cared for. But so many had been taken, taken by Negan’s hand. Not only had he ended their lives, but he had also destroyed all those that remained. He'd taken away their freedom, their hope. Even his own pride had caved in, crushed under all the pressure. What remained of Rick now was nothing more than a husk of the man he formerly was. He’d been reduced to nothing more than a trophy for a psychopath. His legacy turned to dust in a single night.

The batter relaxed into a sitting position in front of the other man, Rick now more perturbed that his view of the outside had fully been blocked. He was forced to look at Negan instead. He was smiling, but only slightly as he wiped the specs of dirt off his hands, “You should know… no one else died. Not. One. And look where we are. _Progress_.”

The injured man didn’t budge. That was nothing to celebrate over given how much bloodshed there had already been. The time for more would come. And currently, the exchange for death was enslavement. Negan seemed perfectly content with it, but it only made Rick narrow his eyes further.

“Listen,” he started, offense clear in his tone, “I think I let you off pretty goddamn fuckin’ easy. Need I remind you how things could have gone down? You’re lucky, Rick. Being alive? Getting a second chance? Receiving _mercy_? I think that’s pretty fuckin’ generous. Never thought I’d be up for takin’ advice from a kid, but Carl he--”

Rick snapped at the mention of his son’s name. Hostility burnt through his words as he launched his first towards the larger man, shocking both himself and the batter, “Don’t you fucking _dare--_!”

But Negan caught it. Squeezing his hand in his own, he twisted the smaller man’s wrist away and slammed his other arm back against the wall, spitting into his face as he shouted. “YOU WILL NOT,” Negan paused in an attempt to cool his tone although his volume barely lessened, “speak to me like that!” 

With that, the respect for personal space had vanished.

Existential dread flooded Rick’s mind yet again as he gasped out in pain. He looked into Negan’s dark eyes in fear for his life. He saw the catastrophe from just a few nights ago replay in his head, the horrified look on Michonne’s face with a bat moments away from bashing her and Judith’s brains in. Moments before Rick had surrendered all of their freedom away. He completely froze.

Even after Negan had released his grip, the injured man didn’t move. He could only keenly watch the other man’s lips upon him opening them, “You do _not_ tell me that shit. I’ll talk about whatever the fuck I damn well please. I’ll let that one go, _fine_ , I get it, but you do not pull that shit again. He’s the only reason you’re not currently watching your own guts get pulled out and eaten right in front of you. Instead, you’re here, limbs intact, getting free goddamn food. And for that? I think a _thank you_ is in order.”

Rick wasn’t too hesitant about saying the word. In fact, it came easily as he spat it out as disingenuously as he possibly could. The distance between the two men was nearly non-existent; he could feel the warm frustration emanating off Negan as he scowled. While it was enough to hide his still very present fear, the smaller man knew he’d have to pay for his lack of cooperation later. But for now, he allowed his anger to get the better of him. 

The batter only growled as he stood back onto his feet, placing a heavy hand on the doorknob as he prepared to take his leave, “You want things to get better, Rick? You want anything more than this? You wanna ever see the light of day again, then I suggest you learn some goddamn respect.”

With one powerful pull on the handle, the cell door slug shut.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Also, anyone catch what the name of the chapter was a reference to? It's a song that's played in one of the episodes. If you figure out the scene it's played during you get cool points. Thank you all for reading!


	5. Plan B

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Minor drug use up ahead. Nothing too serious, but it may develop slightly in upcoming chapters. There's your warning just in case!

There appeared to be a pattern as each miserable day went by. 

Rick was forced awake in the mornings by a guard throwing him a bottle of water, a painkiller, and some type of food. Up to now, it had either been a protein bar or a raw vegetable. He was quick to realize this was the only time he would be fed. Then, after a few grueling hours of staring at walls and thinking himself to death, the guards would change shifts. It occurred several times throughout the day with none of them interacting with their prisoner. It was certainly an excessive precaution for him to constantly be watched over, but the injured man possessed his theories as to why that was the case. Most of them were extremely outlandish. 

He was slowly growing absorbed with his foolish ideas, that being the only entertaining thing he had to pass the time. But come late in the night, the pain in Rick’s injured leg would become so unbearable it, without fail, would snap him out of his thoughts. He’d them pass out from the torment, and the day would repeat. However, on the evening of the first day, he was oh-so-generously given a bucket and toilet paper after enough asking. It was to be cleaned every other afternoon. But that was the only luxury he was provided.

None of the Saviors spoke directly to Rick, which he was quite content with, but a lingering feeling of loneliness grew inside him with each passing hour. It was something the injured man was more unfamiliar with than he had ever realized. Since the beginning of the epidemic, since he had made it to Atlanta, Rick had almost constantly been around other people. In a way, he still was, but they were all unfamiliar to him. He was greeted with alien faces and expressions that displayed no sort of kindness before he was once again sentenced into darkness.

It was a pattern beginning to generate insanity.

But through all of it, Rick had begun developing a plan. He would give Negan that “respect” he’d demanded to see during his previous visit. It would be a horrifically challenging feat, but the injured man was out of options. He could force his guilt, seek redemption from the batter, anything to get out of his current situation. At least he could try. How far he would consider going, however, he was still uncertain of.

Rick was startled out of his trance in carefully examining every nick and scratch on the door as it was thrown open. A woman, thin with blonde hair pinned up in a tight bun stood before him. It was the first time anyone had spoken to him in four days.

“Get up. The doc needs to see you. You’re scheduled for a check-up,” her words came without amusement, tired eyes staring back at Rick’s as she held out a pair of crutches for him.

It was a joyous relief to smell the fresher air from outside his cell for longer than five seconds. He couldn’t help but linger in it for a while before sputtering out a few yeah’s and ok’s. Rick held on to the crutches tightly as he attempted pulling himself up, using the wall for support. After enough failed attempts and him straining himself, the woman sighed out grumpily and aided him on to them. To his surprise, she had hoisted him up rather easily. Rick hadn’t even considered how much weight he must have lost since his arrival. His hunger had been the least of his worries.

The walk to the infirmary was more than a struggle as the injured man could barely lift his own weight. His body was frail, he hadn’t at all been on his feet since he’d initially been shot. Fortunately, Rick managed to catch himself before tumbling over all several times. 

After enough embarrassment and frustration, he twisted his head towards the woman behind him and stopped in his tracks, “Don’t you people have an easier way of doin’ this?”

“As much as I’d love wheeling your ass around everywhere, it is what it is. Keep walking,” without making eye contact or conveying any hint of emotion, she nudged Rick forwards.

The injured man grumbled, tensing against the crutches as he hobbled farther down the hall. The lights above him flickered menacingly as his leg began to throb from the overuse of it. Rick could only imagine the state his knee was in. For all he knew, the wound could be rotting underneath the bandages due to how improperly it was being cared for. Blood had long before seeped through his cast, the blue material now mixed with the putrid brown of dried blood. Looking down at it, his worry magnified significantly. There was a possibility that he might come out of the infirmary without a leg. 

It didn’t take long for the man to work himself up, sweat forming at his brow as he entranced himself with all the various outcomes. And as Rick’s thoughts enveloped him, the walls surrounding him seemed to have grown more narrow, his peripheral vision gradually fading away. He felt his hands release from the bars of the crutches, but he couldn’t process that he had done so.

“Fucking hell,” the woman swore. Her voice echoed in Rick’s head and he was unsure if she had spoken at all as he found himself growing closer and closer to the ground. 

The second the injured man felt an arm wrap itself around his stomach and jerk him back up, he jolted. The crutches fell to the concrete below, a loud clatter reverberating throughout the hallway. His eyes peeled open as he stared at the ground in shock. He had nearly fainted.

“I-I…” Rick managed to sputter out before one of the many doors lined against the corridor walls flung open. To both his luck and relief, it was the doctor. 

Carson quickly jogged his way over to the pair, seemingly horrified by the sight of the injured man as he frantically questioned, “Jesus. What happened? Is he ok?”

Rick wasn’t surprised by the reaction and feebly turned to look at the man with a face riddled with shame.

The woman then piped in, briskly knocking him into the doctor, “That’s for you to find out. Report to Negan when you’re finished-- and take him back yourself. I’m not touching him for another second.”

Carson sighed through his nose as he offered her a curt nod, supporting Rick by snaking an arm over his shoulder. He was unappreciative of the woman’s tone, but had no other choice than to relay his false gratitude, “Thank you, Laura…”

With no more being said, she gave a half attempt of a wave before walking off, her displeasure clear as day.

Rick could tell the doctor was acting oblivious to his unpleasant scent, but he couldn’t be bothered to apologize for it. Instead, he merely flung an arm of his own over the other man’s shoulder as he was escorted into the infirmary. Hopping along against the wall and Carson was a tedious and uncomfortable process, but they managed nonetheless with the help of the other man’s coaching. With his simple tips on how to “walk” correctly, Rick already felt alleviated from some of the pain.

As he was positioned against a bed, the injured man saw the doctor pull out various tools and give the occasional solemn glance over at him. Instead of tension, the air suffocated them both in sorrow. It was a feeling Rick hadn’t let affect him until this point. He appreciated it now that he was around at least someone who could relate, but only just.

Eventually, Carson spoke up, “I don’t know if it means much at all, but I’m sorry. About what happened…”

Rick hastily shook his head. He couldn’t wallow in self-pity. He knew if he were to dwell on it, he’d start spiraling and work himself up into some sort of rage. Swallowing down his emotions undoubtedly wasn’t the correct path, but it was simply too much of a risk to have another outburst. What Negan had done over Rick’s “misbehavior” was a constant looming thought that haunted him through his every action. Even if the man wasn’t in the room, even if he never overheard his exchange with Carson, there was still a possibility. A possibility that Negan could find out and injure him even worse, a possibility that he could get someone else he loved killed, a possibility that he--

_You’re doing it again._

“It is what it is,” Rick finally murmured almost in mockery, narrowing his eyes gently upon letting his head rest on the pillow beneath him. A massive improvement from the concrete, he instantly felt himself melting into it.

The doctor, thankfully, didn’t push any further and decided to change the subject as Rick had hoped for. “I need to cleanse the wound, remove the stitches, and make sure there’s not an infection,” Carson began to roll up the other’s pant leg, then unwrapping the cast around it, “have you had a fever? Any nausea, fatigue?”

Rick shook his head once again, trying to keep down his worry. The whole might-leave-with-one-leg idea was still fresh in his mind and he tried not to wince as the bandages were carefully taken off, “No, no. Nothing noticeable.”

“That’s a relief… I had tried getting you in here much sooner, asked if you could stay as soon as you arrived. But I, well, they didn’t allow it. Negan had said something about you ‘not deserving it’. He said if it wasn’t life-threatening, then it wasn’t a problem. Which is complete bullshit, if you ask me.”

The injured man would have smiled at the support he was granted if the sight of his knee hadn’t been so incredibly revolting. The area was slightly swollen and littered with green and yellow-tinted bruises. The several spots that had been sewn up were red and inflamed. It surely seemed to be infected.

Carson’s reaction didn’t seem terribly hopeful either. He let out a disgruntled “hmph” before touching the area with a gloved hand. He felt where the bone had set and begun to check if there was anything else disconcerting underneath the skin that his eyes couldn’t see. He then attempted a half-smile as he glanced back up at Rick, “Well, on the bright side, it could be considerably worse.”

The injured man barely shifted his eyes away from the sight, merely offering the other man a wry grin, “It looks like shit.”

The doctor seemed to find his comment amusing as he laughed it off. “Give me more credit than that, Rick. For how much of a mess your knee was before, it’s fairing decently now. I just,” walking towards a bucket of water to wet a rag, he paused for a moment before continuing, “reconstruction, it’s difficult, and not something I’d be able to do… I can’t promise a full recovery. Hell, I probably couldn’t even if I had every piece of equipment I’d need. Your knee was shattered and a few of your ligaments were completely torn. I did what I could, but it’s going to be at least three months before I’d recommend trying to walk on it… and over a year before you should start feeling relatively normal again. I’m sorry, I--”

“Rick… Rick, is that you?”

The drowsy voice came from across the room, causing the injured man to lift his head. An exhausted yet joyous expression came from Gabriel who was somehow smiling despite his ill-looking state. He was sitting upright in his cot and looked to be sweating bullets as reddened eyes squinted happily at his former leader. 

Rick, though concerned, gazed ahead at his previously missing friend with a great deal of relief. As devastating as the news he had just been given was, he forced himself to forget it for the meantime. He started with a stupid question, but he had to ask nonetheless, “Gabriel? How- how long have you been here?”

“Since we had shattered their windows and led the herd here,” he laughed softly as Rick began to frown, curiosity shaping his expression. Gabriel then elaborated, “As everyone was leaving, I saw Gregory struggling in the crossfire. I wanted to help him. I felt like I had to… but in the end, that’s the mistake that kept me here. He abandoned me, taking off in my car. I fled into a trailer to escape from the dead only to find Negan in there as well. We ended up covering ourselves with their insides and worked our way back to the Sanctuary. I had gotten caught in the thick of it, but Negan he-- he had helped me get out. But that… was the only mercy I was shown since arriving.”

Gabriel appeared more solemn as he lightly shut his eyes, patting the sweat off his brow with a nearby towel. In the intervening time, the doctor had already finished disinfecting the wound, now gently snipping the stitches around Rick’s knee. As painless as the process was, it was still unnerving, and the injured man tried his best not to flinch upon being spoken to. 

“They had locked me away before I came down with this fever. Negan had mentioned his men getting sick from the intestines before. I suppose I simply possess some lesser version of the virus. I have remained here since…” 

Carson glanced over at his other patient for a moment with a slight nod, then beginning to carefully rebandage Rick’s knee. Trying to lighten the mood all that he could, the doctor began chuckling quietly, “Yeah, and this crazy bastard wanted to take me all the way to the Hilltop so I could help deliver Maggie’s child… despite how much this infection was hindering him.”

Rick found his eyes widening slightly at his determination but remained quiet, interested in hearing the rest. It occurred to him that he had to have missed so much more during his imprisonment. There was more to be heard than just this pair’s story. Everyone was undergoing something; everything was changing. It was utterly astounding him in the most heart-wrenching way possible. And hell, it had only just been six days.

As Gabriel found himself preoccupied with wiping his brow and cooling his temperature, Carson continued speaking for him, “We had, uh, planned to make a break for it. Got help from another one of your friends, too. Eugene had gone as far as distracting a guard in his… own unique way, and then dropped us the keys. Call me crazy, but I think that guy is coming around.”

“What stopped you? From leaving?” Rick abruptly inquired, shifting his leg as Carson slid a brace back over his knee to prevent him from bending it. He wasn’t too keen on hearing about the man who had changed sides on him, not yet.

The doctor made another effort to smile somewhat convincingly. “You, actually. Negan showed up a lot sooner than we expected. Both of you looked… well, completely terrible. He threw you at me, told me to fix your knee immediately. Acted like he was in some sort of a panic since you were unconscious. I think he figured you were dead, or close to it. I won’t lie, you were on the brink of it… but Negan. I can’t wrap my head around it. He seemed so concerned about your well being but completely dismissive of it all at the same time. He hasn’t told any of us why on earth he kept you alive. Wow-- that sounded… I didn’t mean it like that.”

Rick was taken aback, and not by the accidental insult. Negan being _concerned_ for him? It was one hell of a word. He dismissed the statement completely because of how little sense it made. His mind scrambled for an explanation, any kind of reason for the bizarre change in behavior. The only conclusion to be made resulted in Rick being needed for some arrangement Negan had in the works. A plan of his own. 

 _Of course,_ Rick thought to himself. It did nothing but make him more disgusted in the man who had trapped him there. But, figuring out the exact reason why he was still breathing would be something to stew on later.

“But despite it all you are alive, and it means everything, Rick.” Gabriel chimed in weakly, though a sense of positivity could be gathered through his hushed tone. “I know you, and I know with you being here with us there _is_ a way out. A way in which we _win_. I believe in you, Rick. We all do.”

Carson offered the injured man a gentle smile to further emphasize Gabriel’s point. But Rick could take the words as nothing more than an untruthful compliment. He couldn’t interpret it any other way. Surely it was something to keep in mind, but now wasn’t the occasion where Rick could accept what was said to heart.

He found himself staring distantly into the cot beneath him, but the least he could do was advise his friends of what was on his mind. “I… understand. But you have to listen to me. Where I am now, in that cell like this, I can’t do anything. And acting too fast, it will put everyone else in danger, none of us can afford somethin’ like that. We can’t afford _another_ fight. Not now. It’ll take time, but… but I’ll try everything I can,” glancing up at the other two, Rick began to feel a small feeling of leadership rise within him. He revealed his truth despite every one of his senses screaming at him to contain it within, “I’ll play Negan’s game, get him to trust me. If I can gain that, _that_ is when we take him out. I just need you two to promise me not to let anyone else know about this. If he finds out, then it’s _all_ over... I don’t know how long it will take, what’ll happen between now and then, but I will try. You have my word.”

It felt like acid was burning his tongue, but the hope that shone through Carson and Gabriel's eyes was just enough to keep his internalized fear at bay. Through his honesty, the injured man had uttered one detrimental lie. Rick didn’t believe in himself enough to keep his word. He was set on the reality that he had already failed, that giving more than two of his former people some sort of faith was far too much to handle. It wasn’t that he would refuse to try, but his confidence had reached an all-time low that made success feel impossible to attain. 

He said what he needed to soothe their nerves. Nothing more.

* * *

 “Rise and fuckin’ shine, Ricky.”

He was roused awake the following day to the unpleasant voice. Groggily, Rick made a noise of displeasure as he slowly stirred onto his back to confront the batter. He was leaning over him with absolute glee. It was all the injured man needed to fully wake up and sit as far away from Negan as he could, shrinking over to a darker corner of the room.

_So his visits were a week apart, then._

The larger man crossed his arms with delight as he placed down his bat. He then peered down at Rick, not seeming to care he had crept away, “How you holdin’ up?” 

It felt like the beginning of a bad joke, but after enough waiting and the other’s expression turning impatient, Rick concluded that the batter was intensely serious in his question. It took effort to stop himself from rolling his eyes, deciding to instead glance ahead at a wall upon replying, “Thinking. A lot of thinking.”

“Oh yeah,” Negan flashed a toothy grin as he lifted his head, “what about? And _please_ don’t break my heart and tell me it’s about how you wanna kill me.”

“No,” Rick answered sternly, quickly. He was given the opportunity to set his plan in motion and had long before rehearsed all that he needed to say to the man in front of him. Rick had repeated each sentence in his head every waking moment, perfecting it, analyzing it, driving himself crazy to just get it out of him. But as the moment presented itself, the injured man could feel a rising sense of dread swell inside of him. His fear had been clinging onto him like an unwanted pest. He scolded himself for having been driven into such a helpless state and cursed Negan for placing him there.

The larger man’s intimidating presence lingered over Rick and he could practically feel it as the other’s grin widened, “Then what’s been kickin’ around up there, huh?”

“I know what I’ve done,” he finally spat out in a voice so terribly dejected, clenching his eyes shut. The smaller man then attempted an empty laugh. “‘You brought this onto all of them’. I guess it stuck. I kept repeating that to myself, trying to make myself believe that it wasn’t true. Hours and hours of just thinkin’... I came to terms with the fact that all I had been doin’ was lyin’ to pretend I wasn't in the wrong.”

Rick took a moment to intake a deep breath, directing his gaze over towards Negan. He seemed intrigued if anything. For a moment it seemed as if his expression had softened, so, the injured man continued. “I was... and you were right,” he falsely confessed in a whisper, ashamed that he had uttered the words, turning his eyes away as a sullen pout covered his face. “It’s my fault, all of it. If it weren’t for me, then… then maybe a lot more people would be alive right now. Maybe I wouldn’t be here. Maybe it wouldn’t of changed a goddamn thing.”

As the words slipped out, Rick found himself believing it for a minor second, sending him into immediate silence while his mind drew a blank. Shakily, he tried to wipe away the unwanted guilt by scratching the growing scruff on his chin and contorting his frown into a bitter smile. “Shit… I guess I’m going crazy locked in here.”

He knew he had made a mistake the moment he spoke.

Rick’s head instantly shot up in dismay as Negan belted out a cackle. “Oh, that was _rich_!” 

The batter bent over and held onto his knees as he continued to laugh and laugh, almost losing his balance at one point. Once he began to calm down, he wiped a tear forming in his eye, “And to think-- to think you had me goin’ there for a second!”

Negan stalked closer to Rick, to solely cause him more terror if nothing else. “How many times you practice that speech to yourself, huh? God, you’re already more desperate than I thought,” the malicious joy dripped from Negan’s lips as he slowly bit his tongue, his voice suddenly gentle. “Ohh, Rick…”

The injured man watched as the batter slowly leaned away, his dark eyes attached to Rick’s, “I’ll be back soon. Next time, try to come up with a play that isn’t so fuckin’ obvious.”

Rick hadn't had the chance to speak before the cell door was shut and locked, showering him in darkness. Once more, he was alone.

Swearing aloud, a worn hand slammed itself into the concrete flooring in defeat. After all this time of plotting and thinking, it had all been for not. How quickly Negan had seen through his plan, it was something Rick had been prepared for. But his reaction to the deception was what had shocked him so. He _laughed_. The injured man was certain that his failure would result in further punishment. Certain that he would once again be pinned to a wall and screamed at, or worse. To simply be laughed at was the last thing he anticipated. 

It boggled Rick’s mind for the following hours, so much so that he had ceased to eat as his breakfast was tossed at him. He felt too despondent to achieve anything more than sulk and groan over the developing pain in his knee. Shifting where he sat, he felt a bottle move in the pocket of his sweatpants. Upon prying it out, he pondered over the pills inside. OxyContin.

Before he had departed from Doctor Carson, he had handed him the bottle as he explained the medicine he was supplied before was nothing more than simple pain relievers. He didn't require such a powerful opioid, but the Sanctuary possessed a wealthy stock of easily abused drugs that he figured no one would miss the single bottle. He entrusted Rick with taking them as responsibly as possible. One pill, each time the guard’s shifts changed every five hours. Once his overall pain wasn’t so debilitating or the bottle was running close to empty, he would have to cut the dosage in half and work himself off of them. It was risky, but he was confident in the doctor’s judgment and confident that this was quite the occasion for them.

Without a second thought, Rick sluggishly moved to unscrew the cap of his water and pill bottle, swallowing down the narcotic with a heavy gulp of liquid. From there, he rested the best he could on the cold floor underneath and drifted toward blissful euphoria before all the pain from his body and mind slowly faded back into reality. Then the cycle continued.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another chapter down, and still everyone's in the dark on what the hell Rick is alive for. All will be revealed in the next chapter!  
> Thank you to everyone who has read the story thus far. Please feel free to leave kudos and a comment if you're enjoying it!


	6. Watch the Sunrise

For the next five days, reality itself had manifested into emptiness. It was a peaceful type of empty, an emptiness without pain. Nothing but thoughts and ideas occupied the desolate space. They weren’t concepts of meaning. In actuality, they were entirely meaningless, so much so that it brought felicity to the lonely man’s heart. He would imagine the times before the world went to hell, anything to make him smile. He would imagine the joyous feeling of blasting music during car rides with close friends, all out long past their curfew. He would imagine the feeling of the ocean breeze and skin baking in the warmth of the sun. He would imagine the smell of horribly made pancakes every Sunday morning. 

The reactions, feelings, and thoughts themselves were all chemical, however. Drug-induced. Disingenuous. They weren’t real. What made Rick realize this to be true was the powerful nausea that had suddenly overtaken all his senses. The injured man’s mind was flung from out of his head as reality came crashing back. His head spun and his stomach cramped as he mindlessly dragged his body to the only item in the room. Expelling out his guts into the bucket, nothing more than stomach acid and a few bits of the morning’s food came up. It was painful for how little he had in his stomach. He found himself shaking violently, then gagging at how putrid the inside of the bucket appeared. He flung his head away from it. 

Limply, Rick attempted to crawl back to the corner he had been in before until falling a few feet short. He collapsed onto the ground. The dusty concrete began blurring before him, and within seconds the world turned black. 

By the time he opened his eyes, he had been standing on his feet. No crutches, no support. Taking a step forward, there was no shooting pain in his left leg, nothing at all. Rick felt breathless as he lifted his head to see that the cell door had been left wide open. In fact, it seemed as if there had never been a door at all. He took a step out into the eerily bright corridor before starting to jog. Then run. Then sprint. The man felt weightless as he ran for his life. 

He realized the halls seemed to have inflated, appearing much wider and longer than before. It was endless. And after what felt like an eternity, Rick found himself at a crossroads. Mindlessly, he turned left as if there hadn’t been another choice. As the paths diverged again, he went right and continued the alternating pattern whilst he sprinted without slowing for anything over a second. His mind only focused on one goal: escape.

It should have been easier than this, Rick found himself thinking as each corridor expanded larger than the previous. He knew something wasn’t right. At the same moment, a loud banging noise sounded behind him. It was as if a hammer had collided with some type of fruit, hitting the nourishing substance until it was squashed flat. Gooey and unrecognizable. He felt a sense of fear crawl up his back as the sound grew closer and, somehow, more familiar. The borderline vulgar noise pulled out a faint memory from Rick’s mind upon each hit. In his recollection, he could only recall the emotions of the situation, nothing visual. And as the noise intensified, he recognized the horror inside him had grown exponentially. He felt a presence lagging not too far behind. What or whoever it was had been there the entire time. In a flash, it all began making sense.

Rick could barely breathe as his body was suddenly overcome with exhaustion, sweat dripping out of his every pour. The ceaseless banging caused his eardrums to rupture and bleed. His muscles grew stiff from the crippling pain and terror; his legs slowly gave out. Every raise of a foot felt a ton heavier than the last, causing the man to finally tumble over and fall onto the ground. Refusing to give up, he dug his nails into the concrete, sapping every bit of strength he had left to pull his body away. Rick couldn’t let him get any closer, but the reality of that being so seemed to be inevitable. 

Could he accept it? Hardly so. But there was no other way out, was there? He felt the blood pumping to his heart, his lungs expanding and falling rapidly, and his throat growing dry as the other man stalked closer. All at once, every sensation slowed as Rick stopped his struggle.

A hand approached to roughly nudge his shoulder.

“Rick. Wake up.”

The injured man jolted and immediately pressed himself back against a wall at the sight of Negan’s silhouette kneeling over him. Failing to breathe for a long moment, Rick rapidly glanced around the gloomy room to see if everything had been set back to normal. The cell door was cracked open but appeared to still be on its hinges. From what he could see outside, the hallways were in their regular dimensions. Rick then hastily felt the worn cloth of his shirt and figured the sensation of the rough fabric was very much real. He was no longer dreaming, but due to the dimness of the corridor, he figured it was still night. On top of that, Negan was in the room with him. Something was very wrong about the picture before him.

Sighing out uneasily, the smaller man couldn’t shake the fear churning in his stomach. He felt the sweat that had collected near his brow roll down his cheek. Vulnerability overcame Rick as he shrunk closer into the wall, leaning back on his elbows as he glared at the other man. His beating heart began quickening as Negan did nothing more than smile. 

The injured man worked up the nerve to speak, his tone low as he thinly held back his panic, “Why-- why are you here? What do you want?”

The batter snickered at the reply, cracking a wider grin through the blackness. “I _wanted_ to come say hi,” he shrugged as if this unexpected greeting would somehow turn out to be innocent. Little to Rick’s surprise, Negan’s voice began to darken as he drew closer to the other man’s face, “when you wouldn’t have some dumbass script in your head. So tell me, Rick, I manage to do that? Or were you already back to plottin’ again while you were twitchin’ and moanin’ in your sleep?”

Rick felt his face reddening in anger and embarrassment at the insinuation of the batter listening to him while he slept. He had assumed Negan had only just arrived, but now, he wasn’t so sure. The injured man couldn’t reply, for nothing more than rage would have spewed from his mouth. His nerves barely calmed as the other man then rolled his eyes.

“Je- _sus_ , don’t look so goddamn freaked out. I’m messin’ with you,” Negan replied dismissively, wobbly leaning away from Rick, but only just. “I was on my way down anyway and heard you whinin’ in here, then woke you up. I just came to talk, without all the bullshit this time. I’ll be honest, I didn’t come here planned with much of shit either.”

The smaller man watched as the batter smugly peered down at him. There was a strong smell of liquor coating his breath which did nothing to melt away Rick’s fear. Perhaps it was due to the unknown result of Negan brewed with any type of alcohol, or perhaps the injured man simply wasn’t yet over the horrendous nightmare he had just endured. Whatever the case, he was certain the batter’s presence was anything but helpful. 

Negan exhaled deeply as he looked over Rick’s expression. It seemed as if the other man was admiring him for a moment. It wasn’t irregular, coming from him, but there was a buried undertone of something more frightening hidden beneath the glance. The way it struck Rick only made him more uneasy. It seemed that the batter in this state wasn’t any less intimidating. “I gotta ask you somethin’, Rick. Last week when you told me all of that, how much of it was in fact bullshit?” 

The injured man would have grumbled in a small amount of retaliation if he could have mustered the courage to. But in a sign of obscure submission, Rick merely turned his gaze to the ground. He could only speak the truth. He knew he had to. “Some. I knew I had been lyin’ to myself a lot longer. I know… I _know_ I started this.”

It felt utterly wrong to speak so authentically to the other man, out of all people. But concealed deep down, the injured man knew he needed to find that security in speaking with him. He didn’t _want_ to, but if his plan to rid of the batter could go anywhere, he at least needed to be convincing. He needed Negan to believe in him. After all, Rick’s words could only matter to the one man puppeteering his life.

“I’ll take your word for it,” Negan uttered as a satisfied smile spread over his cheeks, giving the other man a nod. For once, it appeared that Rick had genuinely pleased him. Rubbing his jaw in thought, Negan blinked over at the door behind them with a chuckle. “Well, I gotta deal for you then.”

Whatever it could be, there was a possibility that this “deal” could do something to help him, however small it ended up being. So, in the minuscule hope of some sort of relief, Rick asked without much intrigue, “What kind’a deal?” 

Negan sucked in a laugh as if he had been awaiting the response for a while, or more likely, he was just tipsy. “How would you like to come watch the sunrise with me? Been a while since you’ve smelled fresh air,” he tilted his head, “you wanna get outta this hole, right? I can give you that. All I ask is that you _talk_ to me.”

The larger man began to stand, doing his best to stay stable as he did. Firmly planting his feet on the ground once he was up, he raised a brow at Rick, there again waiting for a reply. But Rick couldn’t figure the motive behind this spark of generosity as he gazed back up at Negan, bleary-eyed and suspicious.

“Well? If we want to get anywhere, we gotta start establishing some trust here,” with a toothy smirk, the batter extended his hand out for the injured man, “I’ll walk you outside.”

Rick stared him down, skepticism painting his expression before giving in to his fleeting hope. He begrudgingly took the offer and grabbed the larger man’s hand. Struggling to hold in a gasp, Negan swiftly flung him to his feet and pulled him snuggly into his side.

The batter wrapped an arm around the small of his back, taking the liberty in grasping Rick’s wrist and slinging his upper limb over his shoulder. It was much too close for comfort, and he was certain the batter could read the loathing grimace on his face as they walked. But due to his crippled state, the injured man was helpless. He could have pushed Negan away. That is if he also desired a face full of cement. And while not being consumed in the other man’s suffocating grip was oh so tempting, Rick opted for swallowing down his pride.

They looked absolutely foolish together, Rick’s good knee threatening to buckle every other step— or hop, rather— and Negan stumbling along with him. Neither man could fully support their own weight, and the smaller rapidly found himself growing furious at the absurdity of their predicament. He became frustrated merely at how the batter maintained his patients. It was uncharacteristic for a man he knew to be so violent.

Hopping father down the hallway, he could only manage a single step before pausing for a thin, strained breath. Each time, the larger man paused as well, waiting for him to quickly recover. He’d occasionally mumble a lighthearted “take your time” or some type of variant of the phrase. Rick might have agreed this was a kind gesture if it had come from anyone other than Negan. 

As they very slowly ventured forth, the pair came upon a staircase leading to the outside. At the top of it, Rick spotted a door and through a small, square window the night sky peaked out. He noticed the larger man ponder their new roadblock, and he dreaded for what would now come out of his mouth.

Negan slowly turned over to the smaller man with a devious chuckle, “Looks like I gotta carry you.”

“No,” Rick spat out without a second thought, grouchily ripping the larger man’s arm off of him and holding himself up by clutching the railing of the staircase. He had felt utterly burned by his touch, any more of it would completely destroy the small sliver of pride Rick still possessed.

The batter shrugged it off as if the rejection couldn’t have bothered him less. “Suit yourself,” from there, he began to waltz up the stairs without Rick.

With the other’s back to him, the smaller man finally gave into his itch by rolling his eyes before tediously making his way up the staircase.

After a handful of minutes, the pair reunited at the top of the incline. The door was pulled open for Rick, a rush of cool wind flowing into his face, but the kindness in the batter’s demeanor had left. He was rushing him out as if the injured man was now being too slow. “Kick up the damn pace, will ya? I didn’t wake up this early for nothin’. We are _not_ missin’ this sunrise,” he spat out rather matter-of-factly.

Dagger’s shot out of Rick’s sapphire eyes, but his gaze was unattached from Negan’s and instead glued to nothing in particular out in front of him. He couldn’t bring himself to face the man with such a violent stare, deciding to instead express his annoyance indirectly. 

Luckily, the batter didn’t catch the offense and once more attached Rick to his hip, leading him around the factory building towards a small field with a decently nice view. Distant rows of trees blocked off the line of the horizon, however, tinges of pink and orange began peaking through the shrubbery. The moon had abandoned the sky, but a shorter flight of stairs that led out into the grassy space seemed to illuminate in front of the pair. Before the injured man could dread his trek down, Negan sat him at the head of the staircase. 

Plopping himself just a few inches away from the smaller man, he remained silent, awaiting the start of their conversation.

Rick knew he had to initiate it. After all, he had agreed to talk. But more than one confession felt far too much like opening up for Rick to find himself comfortable with. And so, after a long drawn-out minute of staring into the starry sky above, he started with a question, his words more threatening than he had honestly intended, “Why didn’t you just kill me when you had the chance? You’re only waistin’ your time keepin’ me locked away.”

Negan leaned back on his arms, huffing out with a dismissive smile as if he had become accustomed to the aggression constantly present in the injured man’s tone. “Give me more credit than that, Rick. There’s always a reason,” raising a brow in intrigue, the batter glanced over towards the other man. “The way you say that almost _sounds_ like you wanted me to kill you.” 

“I didn’t,” the smaller man snapped back as he refused to confront Negan’s dark gaze.

“Well ain’t that just goddamn conflicting. If I recall correctly, and I’m sure I do, you--.”

“Just answer the damn question.”

Sighing out mildly disheartened, the larger man sat upright as he gazed over the treeline, same as Rick. The sun was yet to be seen, but the warmer tones of color begun blending farther into the sky. “What your boy said, about wantin’ peace… wantin’ that war to just _end._  I made up my mind to honor that. There will _not_ be anymore fightin’, no more ‘who’s dick is bigger’, no more dyin’ over such stupid shit. I’ve cut down all of that. Full-stop. The fuckin’ end.”

Negan now adorned a sort of scowl before continuing in his explanation, “I’ve always been ambiguous on the whole killin’ thing… like it, don’t like it. Thing is, I was never really sure. But never in my _life_ have I _hated_ it more as I was slammin’ my bat through your boy’s skull. That changed me, Rick. Just like it did you.”

The injured man felt his vision grow red while bile burnt through his throat; a concoction of overwhelming rage and depression pouring down his body like ice water. Rick became so frigid that he ceased reacting in any sort of way. He wished to lash out, to shut him up, to walk away and never say another word to the man, but his body refused. In a deep corner of his mind, he thought to himself. _You’re not allowed to, even if you could._

And of course, Negan didn’t stop there. “But I just kept _goin’_ until I heard you say those words… I realized I didn’t have to kill you. Hell, I probably couldn't have. Not like that. If I killed you, you’d become a martyr and that night wouldn’t have been the end of shit. Your people would’a kept fightin’ and mine would have fought right on fuckin’ back. So, I kept you and all of your other little friends alive. Every. Single. One of ‘em. We’re rebuilding, Rick. All of us. Together. _Just_ like your son wanted. We’re rebuilding every bit of the shit that you started, and _then_ some… and you get to watch it happen.”

Choking down vomit, Rick managed to work up the nerve to speak, only praying it would hurry along the other man’s incessant rambling, “So that’s why I’m alive?”

“Part of it,” the larger man chuckled half-heartedly, “I want you to see the New World Order in all its _beautiful_ fuckin’ glory. And you’re going to appreciate it. One day you will, yes sir!”

Despite the brightening sky, the dread buried in Rick’s soul seeped out further. His questions remained short and in a clear tone of hopelessness, “What do you mean?”

A spark of joy shown through Negan’s expression. “I mean I’m goin’ to change you. I’m gonna turn you into somethin’ equally as beautiful. One way or another you will see things as I do. Don’t care how long it takes, I’m gonna change you, Rick,” the batter chuckled happily at what must have been a pleasant idea in his eyes. “And who knows? Maybe one day you’ll get to be my right-hand man.”

Rick felt as if he was suffocating. While this could certainly aid him in the long run, the realization that his grand scheme might entail some severe damage to what little public image and integrity he had left. It wasn’t something that he couldn’t afford, but the unavoidable humiliation was nothing to look forward to. However, he still found himself wondering what people may think of him after all is said and done. If he could even manage to overthrow Negan, would it be worth it in the end? He couldn’t know for sure.

Before thinking anymore of it, Rick was pulled from out of his head by the batter snapping a finger in his face impatiently. He spoke in a sing-song type voice, “Hello, Ricky? Anybody in there?”

Stuttering out incoherent nonsense, the injured man could do nothing more than struggle for some sort of response: a fitting reply after hearing that the man in which killed his child had now vowed to brainwash him into seeing the logic behind his ways. To put it simply, it was challenging.

“Words, Rick. Talking.”

“What am I _supposed_ to say?” 

The larger man grumbled, seemingly unimpressed by Rick’s lack of enthusiasm, “I don’t fuckin’ know, how about a ‘Oh wow, ain’t that generous, Mr. Negan! Thank you for not just slaughtering everyone I know and love!’”

Rick dug his palms into his weary eyes, groaning out quietly as he refused to speak any word close to the dialogue he was suggested. As he tore away his hands, he noticed Negan gesture his surrender out of the corner of his eye.

“Ok, ok, ok. Fine. Let me ask you somethin’ then,” pausing for a moment in thought, the larger man slowly turned towards the other, “how are you  _really_ doin’? And don’t give me that ‘thinkin’’ shit. Be real this time… please?”

The injured man allowed himself to scoff at both the question and the “please” that Negan had managed to spice in there. Having had enough of the great outdoors, Rick was growing desperate to return back into his cell and get far away from the hellfire that was the batter’s mouth. So if honesty is what he desired, then he shall receive. “My home is destroyed, I’ve been taken away from what’s left of my family, and my son is _dead_. So many of my people were counting on me to protect them and I failed every single one of them. How the hell do you think I’m doin’? I’ve gotten people killed, people who didn’t deserve to die, but somehow I’m _here._  Sitting with _you._  And I sure as hell don’t want to be.”

“ _Gee,_  Rick, I--”

But he couldn’t stop the venom from spewing out of his mouth. As much as he knew he needed to quit, to back down before his tirade escalated any further, he continued in spite of the weaker part of himself. He shot a demented glare at the other man, monstrous enough to tear through his very being, “You’re right, _Negan_ . I do wish you would have killed me. It would be a pleasure to get dismembered and skinned alive if it meant I didn’t have to listen to you for another fuckin’ second! Try convertin’ someone else into your goddamned cult of worshippers. You’re never goin’ to _‘change’_ me, I’d never stoop so goddamn low. You _killed_ my fucking _son_!”

Shockingly, the batter was deemed speechless as he stared back into Rick’s broken eyes with what appeared to be shame. Genuine shame. The injured man would have laughed if his rage hadn’t overtaken the temptation so rapidly. He felt utterly consumed by the emotion that he hadn’t even processed all that he had said. All that he had confessed. Within a couple of seconds of their tense silence, the anger-fueled version of Rick had crawled back into his shell and left the frightened, subdued man out exposed in the open. Even still, he forced himself to adorn the same hardened grimace, ignoring how it wavered. In one quiet breath, he murmured, “Take me back.”

Negan’s solemn expression held onto Rick’s for one final instant before he stood up, carrying the injured man along with him. They hobbled back towards the factory without saying a word to one another in the dead air.

In mere minutes, the present sunshine in the sky had lost all its beauty.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I keep saying I'm gonna get ahead on writing these chapters, and then before I know it wham bam it's been a week and I gotta upload. I'd love to get these out faster but shit if I don't get distracted easily. Hopefully someday I'll manage it.  
> Anyhow, feel free to leave a comment/kudos! The kind, quick gesture goes a long way <3
> 
> SIDE NOTE: I'm going on vacation soon so the next chapter will likely take me a bit over a week to write before it's publishable, if not two. I promise I'll get it out asap, just bear with me fellas!


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